


Your Ear to the Wound that Whispers

by Youzen (enigmaticgale)



Category: Houshin Engi
Genre: Eventual Romance, M/M, Slow Burn, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticgale/pseuds/Youzen
Summary: After everything is over, Youzen suddenly finds himself cast adrift in a strange new life, alone and unsure. As he struggles to find his footing and his place in Horai, keenly feeling the losses suffered during the Great Sennin War, Youzen searches for someone he can reach out to and confide in. Initially drawn to Fugen Shinjin because of their shared connection with Taikoubou, over time Youzen finds a genuine friendship developing with his fellow sennin. As the time the two spend together grows, so too do Youzen's affections...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this sometime after hakyuu had been announced because i got so keyed up about new anime i just Had to write. so consider this a celebratory work? (shoves it full of pain and suffering) YAAY NEW ANIME
> 
> i've liked youzen/fugen for quite some time but have never been able to satisfactorily explain why, so this is my college thesis on why youzen/fugen would work. and if you also want to them to kiss by the end of it, then i've done a spectacular job of things.
> 
> a note for any newer fans who may be reading: this fic contains **endgame spoilers**. it takes place after the conclusion of the manga and assumes you've read the entire thing. tread carefully! please also note that i've shoved a lot of trauma content into this story—i'll give a heads up if a chapter contains a scene i think might be particularly upsetting, but the entire work is kind of inundated with it so if that's not your Thing you'll probably want to give this one a miss. if it is your thing— please enjoy!
> 
> the title of this work and the quotes at the beginning of chapters are excerpts from the poetry of richard siken.

I borrowed your shoes and didn’t put them away.  
You were crying and eating rice.

* * *

Routine was king in Youzen's post-Houshin Project life. In the beginning, when both human and youkai sendou had chaotically poured into Horai, sticking to a set routine had helped keep him sane. Now it was what kept him going day to day; a simple momentum he was too used to to quit. Wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, go to his office and wade through hours of paperwork and other nonsense bureaucracy; then come home, eat supper, and go to bed.

It was the supper part he was stuck on now. Fridge door propped open on his shoulder, Youzen stared morosely at its almost-empty insides. That's right, he remembered. Today was the day he was supposed to have picked up his monthly allowance of food from the gardens. Back in Kongrong there had been a distribution system set up that brought food to sendou households, but a similar system had yet to be implemented in Horai. It probably wasn't too late to go out to the gardens and get his food, but he was tired, and the thought of leaving his small house—apartment, really—was about as appealing to him than doing more paperwork.

A knock on the door jolted Youzen out of his thoughts. Startled, he looked at the door warily. He wasn't expecting anyone, and he didn't know anyone who would come visit him unannounced. Unless it was Nentou with some urgent problem, or something...

With a sigh, Youzen approached the door, yanking it open. If it _was_ Nentou he wanted the visit over and done with as soon as possible; the man was a trial to deal with when Youzen was well-rested, let alone struggling with hunger and exhaustion after a long day of work.

But the person who greeted him when Youzen opened the door was not Nentou Doujin. He was several inches shorter than Nentou, with a messy mop of pale blue hair, and soft violet eyes to match. There was a polite smile on his face.

Youzen's brain scrambled during several seconds of embarrassing silence, eventually spitting out the needed information. This person's name was Fugen Shinjin. _Remember the last time you saw him, right before he died in the Sennin War, in the inside of Kingou with your whole soul still aching from the wounds that fucking bastard—_

Youzen felt his whole body tense, his grip on the doorknob becoming white-knuckled. _Stop it,_ he thought desperately, _don't think about_ that, _not now with a guest right here—I have to greet him—I have to—_

“...Good evening, Youzen,” Fugen said after a minute, during which Youzen found himself incapable of producing sound. “I brought you your food.”

 _He didn't use an honorific for you_ , Youzen's brain told him in a nasty voice, as he looked down and finally saw a wooden crate in Fugen's arms, his own name scrawled hastily on the top in marker.

“Oh!” said Youzen, surprised and thankful. “Sorry. Please come in.”

He peeled his fingers off the doorknob and stepped aside from the entryway, gesturing to Fugen that he should step inside. The shorter man trotted inside, pausing to slip off his shoes, and deposited the crate on Youzen's kitchen table.

Youzen closed the door behind Fugen and walked over to join him. “Feel free to sit down,” he told Fugen. With a nod, the sennin pulled out one of the chairs at the table and sat down gracefully, propping his chin in his cupped hands. Youzen popped the lid off the crate and busied himself with putting away the food. Fresh fruits and vegetables were on top, and Youzen knew he'd find dry goods such as rice and wheat flour underneath.

“Thank you for bringing this by,” he said after another moment of silence. “I really appreciate it.” The words sounded hollow. He hoped Fugen didn't think he didn't mean them.

“Oh, you're quite welcome,” Fugen replied, giving Youzen a polite smile. “I went to pick up mine just a little while ago and saw yours still there. I thought I'd bring it by for you.”

Youzen didn't recall seeing another crate with Fugen when he'd opened the door, and he winced inwardly for causing this near stranger trouble. Shame on him. What would his shishou think?

Outwardly he just gave a little embarrassed laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I'd forgotten today was pickup day,” he admitted.

Fugen made a _hmmm_ sound, a non-committal acknowledgement that he'd heard Youzen's words. “Yes, I thought something like that might have happened,” he said. “You must be very busy these days, with your promotion. What's your fancy new title again? Headmaster?”

Youzen grimaced slightly at the word. “Yeah, headmaster,” he replied. “Though I haven't gotten used to it yet. Everyone keeps calling me, _kyoushu-san, Youzen-kyoushu,_ and it's strange to hear.” Especially coming from comrades that had fought with him over the course of the Houshin Project; with them he had to bite his own tongue to keep from telling them, _please, just Youzen..._

“Oh?” Fugen arched an eyebrow. “I thought someone like you would have taken to this instantly. Didn't you love the spotlight?”

Youzen frowned, irked by Fugen's assumptions and by the fact that they weren't technically wrong. “The only spotlight fixed on me at the moment is Nentou Doujin's burning gaze as he delivers yet another lecture on how the entire sennin world depends on my ability to do paperwork fast enough.” Fugen laughed a little. “Besides,” Youzen continued, “what I've always wanted is to be well-known and well-respected, not necessarily any leadership responsibilities.”

“Heh,” said Fugen. “You're almost sounding like Bou-chan. He's really rubbed off on you....”

They were both silent for a moment, the sudden grief in the air almost palpable.

“Um,” Youzen said, scrambling for a distraction. “Can—can I get you anything to drink? I'm so sorry, I should have offered earlier.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Fugen seemed as eager to latch on to the change of topic as Youzen had been to come up with it. “No thank you,” he said. “Unchuushi said I'm not to eat or drink for 48 hours, to give my soul time to adjust.”

“Oh, you're a recent restoration?” Youzen said. “I'm surprised you're out and about already. In the beginning it took people almost a week to get their bearings straight.”

After the initial migration to Horai, there had been murmurings amongst human and youkai sendou alike about returning houshined souls. They weren't _gone_ , just _unavailable_ , and grieving friends and family had naturally wanted them to be available again. The more people got settled, the louder the requests had become, until finally something had to be done.

Spearheaded by Taiitsu Shinjin and Unchuushi, as well as a couple youkai sennin of similar scientific ability, the Houshin Restoration Project was created with the goal of giving houshined souls artificial bodies to return to. Even with a dedicated team working on it day and night, the project was a lengthy one, and it had its fair share of hiccups and setbacks.

“Yes, so I've heard,” Fugen said. “But it seems they're starting to get the hang of things. I was walking within the hour.”

“That's good,” Youzen said, glad the project was starting to pick up steam. He would be happy when it was over; its existence generated enough extra work to keep him at his office for two hours every day. And, of course, there were those he wanted to see again...

“How's the new body holding up?”

Fugen studied his fingernails. “Fine,” he said. “It looks and feels exactly like my old one, I suppose. The sensation of it takes some getting used to.”

“I can imagine,” Youzen said, and then wondered if he really could. Probably not. Probably Fugen knew that too, and was disliking him for saying such a thing. Damn him and his inability to hold a conversation.

“Well,” Fugen said after a pause. “I should be going now. I want to be back before it gets dark.” He stood up from his chair as he spoke. Youzen moved to show him to the door.

“Thanks again for dropping by,” Youzen said as he pulled open the door. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Fugen said politely. “If there's anything else I can do for you, Headmaster, please do let me know.”

He'd probably meant it sincerely, Youzen thought, but something about that sentence rankled him. He kept his face as calm as Fugen's, well-practised in not letting any of his inner emotions show on the surface.

“Thanks. If anything comes up I'll be sure to let you know.”

With a final nod of farewell, Fugen was off, hopping daintily from rock to rock in the amber Horai sunset.

Youzen closed his door and sagged against it, feeling even more exhausted than if he'd gone to fetch his food by himself. Perhaps he'd just skip supper tonight; he was hungry, but he'd have to cook, and with the state he was in figuring out what to make with his new plethora of ingredients was beyond him.

 _You're pathetic,_ the nasty voice in his head told him. _You can't even make food for yourself and you think you can run a country?_

I know, Youzen thought tiredly. I'm waiting for this charade to fall apart just as much as you are.

He pushed himself away from the door and went to brush his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a healthy amount of backlog for this fic, but i haven't finished it yet, so i'll be posting slowly. currently i plan to post a chapter every week (and hope i can write fast enough to keep up with that, l-lol). if that schedule changes, i'll mention it.
> 
> thanks for reading, and i hope to see you at chapter 2!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a longer chapter this time, now with 80% more trauma! please take care if you're sensitive to depictions of distress. 
> 
> here and elsewhere in the story, nentou comes across as rather mean. i don't think he's mean! i think he's a nice guy who's very bad at communicating his feelings well and upsets others in the process. he's trying his best, let's all be nice to him.

I say the phrases that keep it all going,  
and everybody plays along.

* * *

The next morning, Youzen staggered out of bed just before dawn. He had slept very poorly the night before, his head determined on filling his dreams with visions of Kingou Island, of his father, of his shishou. He had awoken several times during the night, arms and legs tingling with the phantom sensation of acid rain.

When he finally gave up on restful sleep and emerged from his sheets, the ghostly raindrops still fell on him, bothering him so much he opted to just rinse his hair in the bathroom sink instead of attempting a shower. Blearily, he rubbed a bar of soap under his arms as well, staring at his dishevelled reflection in the mirror.

He looked awful. He _felt_ awful. But he couldn't _let_ himself feel awful, or all the grief and the doubt and the fear he'd been keeping tightly bottled would swallow him whole and render him unable to move. He had to keep going, had to stick to his daily routine. There were people counting on him, as incredible as that was; there was an entire _country_ counting on him. They had chosen _him_ , and he had to answer to that wish.

Stumbling into the kitchen, Youzen made himself the easiest breakfast he could think of. While his rice was cooking he set about making the strongest cup of tea he thought he could stomach. He'd need more than this one cup to make it through the whole day, but he could probably convince Choukei to get him more when he delivered more paperwork to Youzen. If not, well. Maybe he'd just pass out on his desk in a show of defiance.

The easy breakfast was the fresh rice with an egg cracked over it. He ate as quickly as his tired body would move, then chugged the mug of tea, which had gone bitter from steeping too long. He grimaced.

Next was teeth brushed, then getting dressed properly, then heading out the door. The cool air of the early morning helped to shock Youzen more awake, but it intensified the prickling sensation on his arms. Gritting his teeth, he rubbed them briskly to try and shake the feeling. Pull it together, he told himself severely. We have work to do today.

And before work, he had a visit he wanted to make. He set off in the direction of Taiitsu's laboratory, hopping from rock to floating rock like Fugen had done the night before. The walk would help wake him up some more.

Below him stretched the landscape of Horai Island. Youzen wasn't up very high, but the little planet was so small he could already see the horizon's curve, dotted as it was with fluffy white clouds. The grass several kilometres beneath his feet was a deep emerald green, and it waved handsomely in the wind. In the distance Youzen could make out some sort of herd animal gallivanting about the plains: they were tan-coloured, like deer or antelope.

Not far from where the herd ran, a river cut through the grassy landscape, looking like a silver ribbon in the morning light. As Youzen ran his eyes along it, a flock of birds crossed his view, winging away into the mountains to the northwest. At his current angle, the snow-capped tips of the mountains looked to be level with Youzen's feet. For a giddy moment he wondered if he could step atop their peaks and run away from his responsibilities, but then his foot connected hard with the next rock in his pathway, and the jarring sensation that vibrated up his leg bones returned him to reality.

It really was a beautiful planet, Youzen thought, running his eyes across the landscape once again. But there was something... off about it to his eyes. Every plant flourished; every animal thrived—it was an artificial satellite engineered for perfection.

It felt, Youzen thought, almost _too_ perfect. Too beautiful; too rich. There were no flaws to be found, but that in and of itself was a flaw. A rather glaring one, in Youzen's opinion.

 _You only dislike it because there's nowhere for a defective creature like you to hide in such a perfect world_ , the snide, evil voice in Youzen's brain said.

Shut up, Youzen thought, though that never seemed to help.

In due time Youzen made it to Taiitsu's laboratory. The scientist sennin had done his best to recreate his Kongrong lab; the new one was bored into a huge rock, maybe ten or twenty times the size of the little one Youzen had made his home in. There were no formal doors or windows, just a carefully constructed lattice of artificial caves that let light and fresh air in but kept windblown debris out. It was something Youzen had wondered about at first, but after the second or third explosion he'd realised why Taiitsu had made that particular design decision. If your windows had no glass, you didn't need to have them replaced every time you blew them up.

Following the sounds of mechanical instruments emanating from deep inside the massive structure, Youzen soon found himself face to face with Taiitsu Shinjin. While Taiitsu wasn't allowed to touch the biological side of the Houshin Restoration project—Youzen had caught him with plans to weaponise the new bodies as human paopei—he was in charge of just about everything else. Making bodies the hard way, from a bunch of seemingly unrelated materials in a laboratory, required tonnes of machinery to process and nurture the tender flesh. (“It's _so_ inefficient compared to a working womb,” Taiitsu had bemoaned. “I don't understand what I'm doing that's so _different_!”) And so did inserting a soul into the body once it was ready. Youzen had a loose understanding about how the former worked, as biology had been something he studied rather intensively, but he had been forced to admit the latter undertaking was beyond him. He was just glad someone had figured it out.

Taiitsu was pouring over a computer screen, seemingly deep in thought. Youzen glanced at his hands before calling out to him; at the moment both were empty. Good.

“Taiitsu, good morning,” Youzen said.

Taiitsu jerked and spun around to almost comedic effect. He looked like he'd gotten about as much sleep as Youzen had—perhaps even less. Somehow Youzen doubted Taiitsu's insomnia was from nightmares, though.

“Youzen!” Taiitsu smiled happily at the sight of the blue-haired sennin. “Er—Headmaster Youzen?”

Youzen answered Taiitsu's smile with one of his own, tired as it was. “Just Youzen is fine, thanks. Things are going well, I take it?”

The scientist nodded enthusiastically. “I made some tweaks to the transfer method and it seems to have decreased the lag time after transfer quite significantly—down from days to just a matter of hours! Fascinating how such a seemingly insignificant integer could actually be impacting the entire formula—”

Well, perhaps it had been a mistake to ask. Taiitsu was known for his unstoppable and incomprehensible tangents, after all. Youzen stood there politely and let Taiitsu's words wash over him, not bothering to try and make sense of what was being said.

“—so tweaking _that_ affected the resonance area—oh, but you didn't come here to listen to me talk, did you?”

Youzen blinked in surprise. Miracles did happen. “Not this time,” he admitted. “I actually had a specific question about the project for you.”

Taiitsu nodded eagerly. “What can I help you with?”

Youzen paused, suddenly uncertain about how to proceed. “Well—yesterday I met with Fugen Shinjin—”

“Ooh, you did?!” Taiitsu interrupted. “He's out and about already? Fascinating. I'll have to get him to come in and run some tests on him and see how things are doing...” He frowned. “Wait, did something seem wrong with him? Oh gods, did I mess up—”

“No, no, he's fine, or he seemed to be,” Youzen reassured him. “I was... well. I was wondering about Shishou.”

“Ohhh,” said Taiitsu, eyes filling with understanding. “Right, they were both Juunisen...”

“So,” Youzen said, feeling very uncertain. “I was... hoping you had a time frame for me about Shishou's...”

To Youzen's distress, Taiitsu's face grew solemn and he shook his head. “No... I don't.”

“Oh,” said Youzen.

Taiitsu reached out and patted Youzen on the shoulder reassuringly; Youzen suppressed the urge to flinch away. “Sorry,” the scientist said. “There were a lot of people houshined over the course of... you know. Everything that happened. So when this project was started up, to avoid hurt feelings, we decided to pick the revival order based on drawing lots...”

“Right. It's random.” Had he not known that? Did he just forget?

“Yeah. So I can't tell you when Gyokutei's turn will come. He could be next, he could be—fifty years from now. We're going as fast as we can, but there's still a long time before we'll be done.”

Youzen desperately hoped he didn't look as upset as he felt. Of course. Why hadn't he known this would be the response he would get? Why hadn't he been able to figure it out on his own? Gods, he was so tired. He wanted to go back to bed.

Taiitsu must have picked up on some of his distress, because he pressed on. “Tell you what, the second Gyokutei's name comes up, I'll let you know, okay? I'll send a message straight to your personal communicator. No fussing with secretaries or paperwork.”

Youzen gave Taiitsu the most sincere smile he could manage, which didn't feel very sincere at all. “Thank you,” he replied, wondering how soon Taiitsu would forget about this promise after he left the room.

* * *

 “You're late.”

Nentou Doujin was an arresting figure on the best of days. Slightly shorter than Youzen, he made up what he lacked in height with a well-toned physique he made sure to show off and an imposing personality. His shock of red-orange hair seemed to bristle with his mood, making his fiery temper seem almost literal.

Youzen stared morosely at the door of his office, just a scant few yards beyond where Nentou was currently stood. If only he'd made it here a little faster...

“I was checking on the status of the Houshin Revival project,” he said. It wasn't entirely a lie. “You know how conversations with Taiitsu go.”

Nentou's frown deepened. “There was no need for you to check on anything,” he insisted. “The project is running fine. No one has mentioned any problems. Don't waste time on useless trivialities.”

Nentou's style of speech echoed his personality: direct and to the point. Youzen sighed. “If we ignore things that appear to be running smoothly until obvious problems present themselves, we waste time and resources when a routine check-up earlier could have nipped things in the bud. And I wouldn't call the restoration of over half our population a 'triviality'.”

He probably shouldn't have said that last part, but he was tired and upset, and his impulse control was slipping. Everything about Nentou aggravated him: the older man was loud and brash, and he acted with an air of superiority that Youzen was bitterly jealous of. In addition, his several-hundred-year lead on life experience made it hard for Youzen to mentally consider him an equal. This was exacerbated by Nentou's drive to manage—or micromanage—everyone he worked with. Youzen may have held the rank of highest office, but it seemed that it was Nentou who was managing _him_ and not the other way around—and everyone else in the bureaucratic office Youzen now called his job. Sure, Youzen may have been the only one who could stamp certain documents and give the final say, but he was increasingly beginning to feel that Nentou only sought out such verifications as an afterthought. So while Youzen chafed against Nentou's oblivious steamroller leadership, that nasty voice in his head kept telling him that _maybe this was better, maybe he should just let it happen, Nentou is so much older and better and more capable of doing this job than you are..._

Fortunately, Nentou didn't seem to take any offence at Youzen's snippy remark; instead it seemed to mollify him some. “True,” he admitted. “But try not to be late next time.”

Youzen nodded, trying not to wobble from exhaustion. “I'll do my best.”

Nentou stood aside and bustled down the hallway, leaving Youzen to finally make it into his office. He sank into his chair gratefully, closing his eyes as a wave of tiredness washed over him. He'd slept so poorly the past night... He didn't want to open his eyes again. What if he just took a nap in his chair...

 _Remember why you couldn't sleep,_ his brain said, _remember the pain and the blood and the fire, remember your beloved shishou's body dissolving above you as you let him carry you, you LET him die, you demon, you're every bad thing everyone has ever said about youkai and worse—_

Youzen jerked upright in his chair, eyes snapping open, choking back a strangled cry. His vision blurred with tears; viciously, he swiped them away. He could not cry: not here, not now. He couldn't let these bad feelings overwhelm him. He had to contain them, had to keep moving, had to keep working because everyone was depending on him, everyone needed him to be strong and do this work and he couldn't reject that, couldn't refuse that, he needed them to need him—

A knock on the door broke him out of his reverie. Youzen scrubbed at his face vigorously, trying to banish all traces of distress and exhaustion in one motion. “Come in,” he said.

It was Choukei, looking quite cheerful, which only made Youzen feel more tired. “Delivery!” the youkai sennin said. He then set a large mug of tea down on Youzen's desk, the dark liquid still steaming.

“Thank you,” said Youzen, quite relieved.

Choukei set down a large bundle of papers on the other side of Youzen's desk. Youzen looked at them sadly.

“...No thank you,” he said.

Choukei laughed. “Yeah, hang in there,” he replied.

Youzen blew at the tea to cool it and then took a huge gulp, scalding his tongue. He slammed the cup down with a swear, and then swore again as the hot liquid splashed onto his fingers and desk. Choukei produced a handkerchief from some pocket and wiped up the spill.

“Sorry,” Youzen said, trying his best to assist but probably just making things worse. Choukei patted his hand distractedly. Now that Youzen took a closer look at his face, he looked about as tired as Youzen felt. It made him feel a little better to know that he wasn't the only one being driven into the ground by the sheer amount of work required in setting up and maintaining an asteroid-sized nation.

“Well.” Choukei straightened up, having mopped up the spilled tea to his satisfaction. “I'll be going now—call me if you need me. I can bring you some more tea later if you like.”

“Please,” said Youzen, knowing he'd need it.

Choukei nodded, exiting Youzen's office and shutting the door behind him. He was a nice guy, Youzen thought. He'd slipped easily into a subordinate role under Nentou and Youzen, and Youzen felt somewhat bad about it; they were supposed to be equals, or at least Nentou and Choukei were supposed to be equal under him. But Choukei had served as Bunchuu's secretary for quite some time, so perhaps it was just what he was used to.

With a sigh, Youzen turned his attention to the pile of papers Choukei had brought him. He'd better get started now, or he'd be here long after sunset.

* * *

“Headmaster.”

Youzen looked up from staring at a legal document to find a visitor had entered his office. He wore an unusual outfit: tall pointed hat, loose baggy shirt, spiked gloves and striped pants. His white hair was pulled out to either side of his head in a gravity-defying style, and his face was adorned with carefully-painted makeup. Youzen's brain whirred and spun, then spat out a name. Shinkouhyou. Rumoured to be the most powerful doushi, he wielded the Raikouben. Disciple to none other than Taijou Roukun.

“...Shinkouhyou.” Youzen set aside his paperwork carefully. “What brings you to my office?”

Shinkouhyou inclined his head. “I heard there is to be a barrier set up around the warp zone, so only those with special passes may pass through.”

Youzen couldn't hide a frown. That information wasn't supposed to be available to the general public yet—though he supposed Shinkouhyou had never counted as part of the 'general public' in the first place.

“What about it?”

“My master and I wish to both be given permanent passes, so we may come and go as we please.”

A low heat began to simmer in Youzen's belly, the smouldering remnants of the hair-trigger temper he'd worked his whole life to suppress. He took a deep, slow breath before speaking again.

“That is not up to me to decide. Please submit such a request before the council.”

Shinkouhyou raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You can't make that call? How odd. Are you here just to sign papers?”

The burning sensation in Youzen's gut spiked sharply and his hands instinctively curled into fists. He could feel his whole body tensing up under Shinkouhyou's carefully neutral gaze. Don't let him rattle you, he hissed to himself. Stay calm. Don't show him anything.

“I am headmaster and leader of Horai Island, yes. I make the final call on any number of decisions relating to the health of my people. But I am not the _only_ voice in making important decisions, and it would be remiss of me to ignore the proper procedures here.”

Shinkouhyou tilted his head to the side. “Hmmm? Important? Surely you jest. My master and myself are but insignificant individuals—”

Youzen exhaled loudly through his nose, picking up his mug of tea and taking several swallows. Maybe if he pretended it was alcoholic it would help. “You and your master,” he said, putting his teacup down, “are two of the strongest people in the entire sennin world. Letting you come and go as you please is not an entirely unreasonable request, but it is one that merits discussion.”

Shinkouhyou tilted his head to the other side. “Well, well... that's fair. It does take longer to do it that way.”

Youzen glared at his mug. “And your master will happily sleep through the entire wait. Besides, the barrier has yet to be set up; you have time.”

Shinkouhyou tilted his head back the other way again. “That is correct. Well then, I will be off.” And then he was off, exiting the room as suddenly as he had entered.

Youzen rested his head on his desk wearily. The anger leached slowly out of his muscles, but it left a hollow feeling in its wake that was only exacerbated by how tired he was. He closed his eyes. Just a moment... Just a moment to rest. Then he'd get right back to work. He just needed one moment...

_Thud._

Youzen jerked upright, heart hammering, wincing at the sudden crick in his neck. In front of him was none other than Nentou Doujin, a stern frown on his face. Nentou's hands were firmly planted on either side of Youzen's desk; he had probably slammed them down to rouse Youzen from his impromptu nap. Damn him, Youzen thought, couldn't he have called my name instead?

“...Nentou,” Youzen said, massaging the side of his neck that ached. The sudden rush of adrenaline through his system was making him feel sick. When had he last eaten today? What time was it now?

“You were asleep,” Nentou said.

“It seems I was,” Youzen said, bracing himself for another lecture on how the Sennin World was depending on him, dammit, so he needed to shape up and pull himself together, he had things to be doing and no time to waste!

“Go home,” Nentou said. Youzen sat up straighter in shocked indignation. “You're clearly done for the day.”

Distress and anger pulled at Youzen's gut. “Nentou, what are you talking about? I can still—”

“Go _home_ , Youzen. If you're going to be sleeping at your desk you might as well be sleeping in your bed.”

I just need another cup of tea, Youzen thought desperately, the storm of negative emotions swirling inside him making his whole core clench up. But there was no arguing with Nentou Doujin once he'd gotten an idea set in his head; defeating Jyoka a second time would be easier than making him change his mind.

“...Fine,” Youzen spat. “Fine.”

Nentou almost seemed surprised at Youzen's reaction, a tiny objective part of his mind noticed as he stood up and stormed out of his office, striding out of the floating rock-turned-government centre as fast as he could without actually breaking out into a run. He passed several sendou on his way out, all of them seemingly still hard at work, and inside his head something writhed in anguish. Don't look at me, it cried out to the people he passed, don't _look_ at me, don't breathe near me, don't pay any attention to me at all, bastards, I am so weak and if you notice me at all it will be the death of me.

He burst out of the office and leapt to the next stone on the path. His body, trembling with suppressed anger and leftover adrenaline, refused to respond properly, and he hit the little rock at a bad angle, feet shooting out from underneath him. For a wild, panicked moment he thought he would fall off of it completely, tumbling through the air until he smashed into the grassy earth of Horai's surface. Instead his tailbone slammed into the hard stone, and he let out a gasp that sounded uncomfortably close to a sob.

He sat there for several long moments, feet dangling off the edge of the rock, bottom aching. His palms stung too; he'd thrown his hands out for purchase and scraped them some. He hoped that nobody in the office had chosen that moment to look out the window.

Eventually he pulled himself to his feet and set off towards his house, this time at a slower, more reasonable pace. It was only late afternoon, and the day was beautiful: Horai's deep blue sky was lightly threaded with thin light clouds, and a pleasant breeze ruffled Youzen's hair and clothes. The sun was warm on his skin. None of this registered to him.

He reached his little home and stumbled inside, slamming the door behind him with more force than necessary. He took several deep breaths, his whole body shaking. He was home now, and should be safe, but the walls of his little home pressed in on him like the walls of a cage. He was alone. He was alone. Memories churned in the back of his mind, threatening to break to the surface, and he was terrified of them. Where was Shishou? He would hold Youzen, and stroke his hair gently, and sing him the same lullabies he had used to lull Youzen to sleep as a tiny child. But Shishou was gone, torn away from him in an explosion of golden light and a shower of hot burning rain—

No. No, he had to keep calm. He was an adult now, a grown man, and he could be on his own without his Shishou to parent him. If Shishou was gone, he had Koutenken. Youzen reached for his wrist—but the bracelet that was Koutenken's dormant form was not there. Panic laced through him; where was he? Youzen took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, trying not to get lost in the roiling storm of feelings coursing through his veins. Koutenken had to be in this house. All he had to do was find him. When had he seen him last? Start from there. But he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember—

 _You're useless,_ the voice in his head told him. _You're a failure. A poor night's sleep and you turn into this much of a pathetic wreck. Nentou was right to send you home, he is right to hate you and think you weak, you're pathetic and never should have been given this job, you should have died back in the bowels of Kingou like the miserable insect you are!_

Youzen crumpled to the ground, a high keening wail tearing from his throat. No, he tried to argue, I'm not, I'm—I'm strong—I'm Kongrong's Genius Doushi—

_And what good is that worth! Kongrong is gone, turned into rubble, and for all your supposed strength you couldn't even protect the people you loved! You WEAKLING! You COWARD! You killed your master and your father and the only other person in this world who could ever love you is gone!_

N, no—

_YES! You're useless! You're nothing but a figurehead! You deserved to die, you still deserve to die, you deserve to die, die, die, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE! WORTHLESS! USELESS! PATHETIC FOOL! DIE LIKE THE FILTH YOU ARE!_

Alone on the floor, Youzen screamed and cried, his body tensing and jerking as phantom sensations crashed through him with the force of raging water. The burning acid rain, his Shishou's blood dripping onto his face, Outenkun's screeching laughter, his father's blank and terrifying eyes as he swung his massive blade—

It's my fault, Youzen thought dully through it all. I killed them. It's my fault they're dead. His sobs echoed in his small dwelling, the walls pressing in on him. I'm all alone now, and it's all my fault. I deserve this. I deserve all of this. I deserve it...

After a time—he couldn't know how long—he finally lay still on the cool stone floor, breathing shallowly. Slowly he became aware of various aches and discomforts in his body: his stinging palms, his aching bottom, a sore elbow from banging it against the table leg. His throat hurt and his mouth was dry, and he had a headache.

His stomach growled. That's right, he hadn't eaten since that bowl of rice and egg this morning, and the sunlight streaming through his windows was tinged with the deep orange of late afternoon. How long had he spent on the floor? It hadn't been like that when he came in, he thought...

The mental fog was distressing, too, and Youzen found himself blinking away fresh tears. He was supposed to be a genius, damn it. Geniuses weren't supposed to wind up crying on their kitchen floors for hours because they couldn't immediately remember where they'd put their paopei.

Food. He needed food. His objective mind was pointing out that mental fog was a symptom of exhaustion and hunger and dehydration, and he was certainly suffering all three at the moment. He was just letting the stress get to him a bit, that was all. He'd be fine. He needed food. He couldn't move off the floor. Every ounce of energy in his body was spent, and even standing seemed like it was beyond him.

With a herculean effort Youzen hauled himself to his feet, groaning. Water first, then food. Clumsily he poured himself a glass and drank it down, spilling some down his front in the process.Then he sat, momentary burst of energy exhausted. Already he was beginning to feel a little better; the cool water did wonders for the dryness of his mouth and soothed his sore throat.

But there was an ache in his heart that water and food could not ease. The quiet air of his house pressing down on him only served to make it worse. Before the Houshin Project, his life with Shishou had never been this quiet; there was always some sort of noise in their small house, whether it was the stove cooking, Shishou's absent-minded humming, or Youzen tripping over one of the many stacks of _stuff_ that had cluttered their abode. After, when Youzen had left to join Taikoubou's group, it was hard to find a moment's peace between petty spats in the sendou group to the constant milling noise of the human army.

Now, though, all was quiet and still, but Youzen couldn't bring himself to see it as peaceful. It felt hollow, oppressive. There was a weight to it that pressed down on him and made it harder to breathe. Shivering, he pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them in a feeble attempt to self-soothe. When had things become like this?

In all his life, Youzen didn't think he'd ever felt more alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "i'll try to update once a week," i said, before not doing that at all. pardon my long pause. enjoy!

A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river  
but then he’s still left with the river.

* * *

It was some three months before Youzen saw Fugen again. In that time, the existence of the former Juunisen had completely slipped Youzen's mind. He'd thrown himself fully into his work, and there was much to be done: settling a population of 1,400 was no small task. There was the matter of where to build homes and villages, and deciding who was to inhabit them; many human sendou were reluctant to live in close quarters with their youkai brethren, but Youzen thought that completely segregated villages would further feed that prejudice in years to come.

Then there were those uncomfortable living on the ground of Horai, like Youzen himself, who had grown up in the floating mountains of Kongrong or isles of Kingou and could not adjust to life on a solid surface. There were currently a number of floating dwellings in place in a large, loose ring; almost all of them had been excavated from the remnants of the former sennin world and were thusly dubiously safe to live in.

In addition, Youzen had to take things like infrastructure into consideration. Would there be roads between sendou villages? Signposts? Who would make them, and what would they be constructed out of? What about running water and electricity? Such utilities could be powered by a central generator, but how would they be connected to it? And, speaking of generators, they needed to catalogue and research the technology buried in Horai's core, in the case there was something useful there, or something harmful they needed to take precautions against...

It was exhausting, all-consuming work, but for every three days of it Youzen was given one day off to rest. Originally Choukei's suggestion, Youzen had readily agreed to the proposal, and Nentou had finally caved in with much grumbling. (“I had to talk to Ryuukitsu about it,” Choukei had told Youzen, breathless. “She said she'd help convince Nentou and it must have worked! What a miracle worker...”)

It was on this day off that Fugen came to visit, whether through coincidence or design Youzen couldn't tell. Youzen was outside, sweeping windblown debris of the top of his little rock, when out of the corner of his eye some motion caught his attention.

Turning to see what it was, Youzen saw a blue-haired figure daintily navigating the string of floating rocks that passed as a pathway to Youzen's house. Isn't that...? he thought, trying to jog his brain into giving up his visitor's name again. It was helpfully providing Youzen with memories of all the emotional fallout of his last visit, but nothing so useful as what to call him. Youzen clenched his teeth, carefully climbing down from his roof. He refused to fall apart like that again.

Youzen's feet touched down at his doorstep at the same time Fugen reached it. Turning around to greet his guest, Youzen finally remembered his name.

“Fugen,” Youzen said, bowing in greeting. “Have you been well? No issues with your body?”

Fugen mirrored his bow and gave Youzen a polite smile. “Youzen. Yes, everything's been fine. It's like there isn't any difference between this body and the one I had before...”

There was a brief flicker of some other emotion across Fugen's usual stoic happiness as he spoke, gone almost as soon as it came. Had it been Youzen's imagination, or had Fugen looked almost... wistful?

When it became obvious Fugen wasn't going to say anything more without further prompting, Youzen cleared his throat as he searched for what to say next, embarrassed that he'd already let the pause drag on this long.

“So... what brings you here today?” he asked, inwardly wincing at how stiff and formal he sounded.

Fugen looked up, still smiling faintly, though this time there was a definite sadness in his eyes. “I was hoping we could talk some,” he said. “About Bou-chan.”

Youzen swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat. Wordlessly he opened his door and gestured for Fugen to step inside. With a polite nod, the smaller sennin entered his house, taking off his shoes and aligning them daintily to the side.

Youzen followed Fugen in, closing the door behind him. His little place was really quite dark, he thought distractedly. The few windows he had were rather small.

Fugen settled himself at the kitchen table, resting his head in his hands in an echo of his prior visit. Youzen headed for the cabinets. “Tea?” he asked, turning his head to look at Fugen.

“That would be nice... Do you have anything herbal?”

Youzen opened his tea cabinet to view a modest variety of containers. Reaching out, he grabbed a small, familiar tin, full of delicate dried leaves. “Chamomile?” he asked Fugen. His shishou had always made him chamomile tea when he was sick or upset, and it had become a comfort for him. Youzen suspected he'd need it during the upcoming conversation.

“Certainly,” Fugen said, and Youzen set about making it.

“So,” Youzen started, raising his voice above the sound of running water but wishing he was letting the noise drown it out. “What, exactly did you... I mean. Was there something specific you wanted to talk about?”

“Well,” Fugen began. Youzen couldn't see his face—his back was to his guest, occupied as he was with kettle and sink—but Fugen sounded almost as reluctant as Youzen felt. Somehow this soothed him a little.

“I know what happened during the Sennin War, of course... I was there for that. And my spirit was present at the final battle, so I saw what happened there, to some extent. But...”

Youzen lit the fire on the stove and plunked the kettle down atop it, reluctantly moving to sit across from Fugen. “But?”

Fugen looked down at the table, tracing an invisible pattern on it with his index finger, head still held up by his other hand. “Bou-chan was with me in the Sennin War. Then with Jyoka there was that person... Someone who seemed like Bou-chan, but who wasn't. And now neither Bou-chan or not-Bou-chan are here.”

Youzen swallowed, trying to banish the sudden tightness in his throat. “Fukki,” he said. Fugen looked up, head tilted to one side, looking confused. “His name was Fukki.”

“Fukki,” Fugen repeated, like he was trying on a new pair of shoes. “Fukki...”

Youzen twisted around to look at the kettle, which was not boiling yet and didn't seem like it would boil soon. Useless distraction, he thought.

“Who was he? Fukki. He couldn't have been Bou-chan, now that I think about it. But at the time I was convinced he was...”

Youzen took a deep, shaky breath in. “He was... suusu. He wasn't suusu.” The whirling storm of emotions was threatening to engulf him if he didn't tread carefully. He'd shoved all thoughts of Fukki aside in the wake of moving to Horai and hadn't bothered to try and unpack any of it yet.

“I'm... not quite sure I understand,” Fugen said.

I don't either, Youzen thought glumly, staring at the wood grain of his table. But he would never admit something like that out loud; instead he just said “It's a long story.”

Fugen looked up at Youzen then, his face uncharacteristically serious, his usual polite smile nowhere to be found. “Youzen,” Fugen said. “Please tell me what happened.” Startled, Youzen just blinked at his guest.

Fugen smiled again. “No one else will, you see. Everyone I try to ask about it keeps changing the topic. I do not need protecting from this, Youzen. I will find out sooner or later what happened, and I would prefer it to be sooner.”

Youzen dropped his gaze back to the table again, feeling shamed and uncomfortable. “Sorry,” he said, putting his head in his hands. “I'm not trying to keep anything from you. It's just...” He swallowed, trying to will the churning in his gut to cease. “Hard to talk about.” If he didn't talk about it, didn't think about it, then he could pretend it hadn't happened. That suusu hadn't vanished and was just... elsewhere. Busy. Hiding somewhere on Horai and fishing with that straight hook of his, eating peaches and shirking his responsibilities...

Startled, Youzen found he was blinking back tears. Fugen seemed to be fascinated by the table again, a fact that Youzen was both grateful for and annoyed by. He took a breath, wiping his eyes.

 _Good job, idiot,_ the voice in his head hissed at him. _You haven't started talking about it yet and you're already in denial and crying about it. Yeah, suusu's hiding here on Horai, and maybe your dad will call you up and ask you out to a nice family dinner so you can talk out all your issues—_

The kettle let out a piercing shriek, and Youzen started, jumping up from his seat and snatching it off the stove. He turned off the fire and carefully filled both cups of tea in a smooth, practised motion, setting the kettle back down on the stove and carrying over the tea to the kitchen table. Wordlessly he put one cup down in front of Fugen; the other he set at his place. Fugen gave a nod of thanks, pulling his cup closer towards himself but not yet making a move to drink. Youzen sat back down.

There was silence for a little while, the both of them watching their tea steam and steep. Idly Youzen let his eyes trace patterns in the steam, a small, naive part of him hoping Fugen would just get up and leave already so he wouldn't have to talk after all.

But Fugen would not leave, he knew. So he took a deep breath and started from the beginning: from the story of the First People, of the destruction of their home planet and their flight to earth. How three of them had merged themselves with the soil and the life on the planet, how Jyoka had wanted to shape things to her will, and how the fifth—Fukki—had been left behind to stop her. How Jyoka had reset the planet's history many, many times. How Fukki's soul could split, _had_ been split, into two: beloved Taikoubou-suusu, and hated Outenkun. How they had merged back into Fukki during the final showdown with Dakki on Horai...

“Well. You know the rest after that.” Youzen closed his eyes and focused on breathing in and out slowly, trying to keep his racing emotions in check. Distantly he realised he'd clenched his hands into fists sometime during his talk, and that his palms hurt now.

“That's... a lot to take in,” Fugen said mildly.

Youzen laughed at that, though there was no humour in it. Wearily he ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It's a lot.”

“So... all sendou... What gives us our sennin powers... We're part alien?”

“Well... yes. Basically.”

“Fascinating,” Fugen murmured, taking a sip of his tea and then grimacing. “Ah! Still too hot.”

There was another silence for a bit. Youzen examined his stinging palms, noting to his dismay that his nails had broken the tender skin and had drawn blood. How tightly had his fists been clenched? How had he not noticed he was doing damage?

“So...” Fugen continued, putting down his teacup with a soft _thunk._ “Fukki. What happened to him, after the battle? My memories get fuzzy...”

Youzen looked down at his tea, breathing in the soft, almost-floral scent of the chamomile. “We aren't sure,” he admitted. “But we think.” Another deep breath. “We think he died.”

“Oh,” said Fugen.

Youzen said nothing, not trusting himself to speak.

They sat in silence again, punctuated by the faint sound of tea being sipped and swallowed. Youzen thought about getting up to wash his hands, but he didn't want to seem rude. Instead he just sat and watched as his tea slowly stopped steaming, taking the occasional sip and wishing he was somewhere else. He felt hollow, emptied out, as if the words he'd spoken about Fukki had taken chunks of his flesh with them as they left his mouth. So much for getting anything done today, Youzen thought bitterly. After Fugen left all he wanted to do was cry and then sleep for the next hundred years. When would Fugen leave? He just kept _sitting_ there.

Eventually Fugen set his cup down and stood. “Thank you for the tea,” he said, smiling politely at Youzen like always.

Youzen stood himself, moving to see Fugen out. “Of course,” he replied.

Halfway out the door, Fugen paused and turned. “Thank you,” he said, that strange seriousness returning.

“What?” Youzen said, head still fuzzy from grief freshly poked at. “It's just tea. No big deal.”

“No,” said Fugen, reaching out and gently putting a hand on Youzen's shoulder. Youzen barely suppressed a flinch. “Thank you for telling me. And...” Fugen looked away, then back at Youzen's face. “I'm sorry.”

Then Fugen withdrew his hand and himself, setting off along the path of floating rocks before Youzen could process what he'd said.

Sorry? He thought, bewildered. For what?

 _For having to put up with you_ , the snide voice in his head commented.

No, that's not right, Youzen told it. It must be because... because I got upset, and I let it show. Even though I tried not to...

_You shouldn't have gotten upset about something like that in the first place. You're a fool and you overreact to everything, and now Fugen knows it despite your best efforts, if you could even call the pathetic display you put out “best” of anything._

Youzen felt his eyes filling with tears. He whirled around back into his house, slamming the door behind him, hoping Fugen was far enough away that the sound wouldn't carry. SHUT UP, he screamed at himself, as loud as he could to drown out everything else in his head. STOP TALKING. I DON'T CARE. I DON'T CARE!

He strode towards his bedroom, feeling all too much like a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum. What would Shishou say if he could see him now, all fallen apart like this? He surely wouldn't be happy. He'd surely feel ashamed that the child he'd tried so hard to raise had come apart at the seams the moment he'd left...

Youzen collapsed on his bed, grabbing his pillow and screaming into it. It was not as cathartic as he'd hoped. What was _wrong_ with him lately? Why was he acting like this? He'd been doing just fine before, hadn't he? What had changed?

It's all Fugen's fault, a tiny voice inside him said. This all started the first time he came to visit us. I hope he never comes back. I never want to see him again.

Youzen rolled over onto his back, frowning. No, that wasn't right. He couldn't blame Fugen for this. Whether or not his presence had triggered any of this, the fact remained that it was Youzen's job to handle it, to keep a tight rein on his his emotions and his composure. A job which he seemed to be failing spectacularly at lately. He hugged his pillow to his chest. Not for the first time, he wished his shishou was back with him. His presence wouldn't make things all better; Youzen was old enough now to know better than that. But at the very least he'd have someone to talk to about everything. The way things stood, he was all alone...

Youzen rolled over onto his side, shutting his eyes. All alone was fine, he told himself. He didn't need anyone else. He was Kongrong's Genius Doushi, and he was more than capable of handling things by himself. He had to be. Everyone was depending on him to be strong and reliable, and he had to live up to their expectations. Ah, he'd wanted to do laundry today. But his bed was so soft, and he was feeling so tired...

Letting sleep claim him, Youzen could only hope he would not dream.

* * *

Old clothes, a set of metal cooking chopsticks, a set of ceramic bowls now cracked and chipped, a pair of tiny baby shoes that must've belonged to Youzen when he first came to Kongrong, used candles, incense with no holder, matches, an old notebook half-filled with childish scrawling, a brush pen with its tip fanned out into uselessness, a small ink-stone with no ink stick in sight, a stack of assorted scrap fabrics, a stuffed animal...?

Youzen held the plush dog gently in his hands, pausing in his search through the boxes that occupied most of his closet space. After Kongrong's main mountain had fallen, the littler chains slowly crashed as well, no longer provided with the power necessary to keep them afloat. The home he'd shared with his shishou was no exception to this, and in the weeks-long process of moving all of the surviving sendou to Horai, Youzen had hurriedly thrown everything he'd deemed remotely salvageable into boxes and crates to be brought with him. A few boxes he'd brought to his new living space; the large bulk of it was stored in a hastily-constructed warehouse built to hold the belongings of the displaced sendou population while settlement was still in progress.

He turned the little dog over in his hands and then hugged it to his chest. It fit snugly in his arms, not too small and not too big. Shishou had made it for him, he remembered. He'd made Youzen several stuffed animals in the time after his arrival at Kongrong. The first had been a bird, fat and red, supposed to be a bird of prey but all too clearly modelled after the songbirds that would flit about Kongrong's peaks. Next were a mouse and a rabbit so the songbird could 'hunt', then the dog that Youzen held, and then...

Youzen frowned. He thought there'd been one other, but he couldn't remember what it had been. Well, that didn't matter. He moved to set the dog back down in the box it had come from, then paused. Turning, he gently tossed the plush onto his bed, watching carefully to make sure it didn't bounce off onto the floor.

Getting back to his search, Youzen continued rummaging through piles and piles of clutter. He really needed to sort through all of this; even when he and Shishou had still lived together they hadn't needed or used all of the things that occupied their dwelling. He supposed he could have sorted through it while he was packing, but he'd felt rushed for time and the idea of leaving something behind he'd want again later had panicked him.

Well, that would have to be a project for another day; there was only so much Youzen could do with his time off, and most of it was usually spent with routine upkeep tasks around his house. Large projects like this would have to wait until things had finally settled down and he had time to think again.

That's if things ever do settle down, Youzen thought to himself grimly. Then he yelped, jerking his hand out of the box he'd just stuck it in, watching as a line of blood oozed from a fresh cut on his index finger.

“Damn it,” he muttered, shoving the injured digit into his mouth, returning his attention to the box and looking inside. Under a tangle of tragically bent clothes hangers, he caught sight of a short blade glinting in the light. It was probably a paring knife of some sort, though it was hard to tell when it was half-buried. Youzen shifted the box. The knife shifted to the side but did not move; underneath it Youzen saw something brownish and squarish. His heart leapt. Was that it?

Carefully inserting his uninjured hand into the box, Youzen reached past the knife and grabbed the thing underneath it, withdrawing it from its surroundings with some difficulty. He really ought to dispose of the hangers, if nothing else.

He turned the small box over in his hands. It was square and squat, slightly larger than his palm, made of a lacquered wood, mahogany in colour. Two small golden hinges adorned the side closest to Youzen; turning the box around revealed a tiny latch, gone a dull silver over the years from countless touches. Yes, this was what he'd been looking for. Youzen opened it, his heart beating faster in anticipation.

Inside was a small wrist mala resting on a plain cotton cushion. Youzen picked it up, carefully setting the box down, and held it in his hands. The beads were made of a strange material: a pale off-white, it was hard and slippery, too strong to be wood or bone but too light to be metal. They made a satisfying clicking noise when rubbed up against each other.

Youzen slipped the bracelet onto his left wrist, pushing it down until it fit snugly around his arm, feeling the faint tingling of the surrounding skin and in his belly that meant it was drawing energy from him. He sat there for a few minutes, impatient, before he decided he could wait no longer. Focusing his energy and his will at the beads around his wrist, he called out loudly in his mind: _Come!_

Then he wasn't wearing any bracelet at all, and there was a large white dog in his lap, tail wagging vigorously and thumping into the surrounding boxes so hard Youzen thought they might fall. Youzen smiled.

“Hey, Koutenken,” he said happily, petting his paopei's face and scratching behind his ears. “Hey boy. I missed you.”

Koutenken barked, then lunged forward to cover Youzen's face with licks. Startled at the change in weight, Youzen toppled over backwards, spluttering at the sudden onslaught of dog slobber, laughing despite himself.

“Oi, hey! Hey! I took a bath this morning, I'm clean, I really am!” Ineffectually he tried to nudge Koutenken's snout away, but the doglike paopei just kept on licking and wagging his tail.

“Enough—enough! Koutenken, sit!”

Koutenken sat.

Youzen sat up, looking at Koutenken, whose tail was still wagging. The older he got, the more amazed Youzen was at Koutenken's construction: he was undoubtedly a paopei, capable of receiving and executing orders in a battle with just Youzen's thoughts to guide him. Yet he was also thoroughly a dog. Had Youzen not known Koutenken's true nature, he would be indistinguishable from real flesh-and-blood dogs. Well, he was a little big, but other than that...

Youzen reached out to pet Koutenken's head again. Then he pulled the white dog into a tight hug, suddenly stuck with an overwhelming melancholy. Koutenken let out a small canine grunt, resting his snout on Youzen's shoulder.

“I missed you,” Youzen said, blinking back tears. “I've been so lonely...”

Then he was crying, and Koutenken broke free from his embrace to ineffectually lick his tears off his cheeks, which only made him cry more. He sat like that for a few minutes, sniffling pathetically, Koutenken doing his best job to keep him dry but only making him wetter.

“Gross,” Youzen said, wiping his cheek off on his sleeve. Koutenken just looked at him, panting.

With a sigh, Youzen leaned back against his bed, looking up at the rough-hewn texture of his ceiling. He felt empty, like he always did after he cried, but Koutenken's presence made a difference. He didn't feel like he'd collapse in on himself. Instead he just felt hungry. He could handle hungry.

Pulling himself to his feet, Youzen looked down at his dog. Koutenken stood up too, tail wagging again, and looked up at Youzen with eager anticipation. Youzen smiled and reached over to pat his head.

“Good boy. Good boy. Want to come help me make lunch?”


	4. Chapter 4

Add a second light and you get a second darkness, it’s only fair.

* * *

“Youzen, here's the latest agricultural reports—”

Choukei trotted into Youzen's office, a fat stack of papers in his arms. Youzen sighed as he saw it. “How do we make so much paperwork? That's _just_ on food?”

Choukei laughed, setting the papers down decisively. “Yep. Though if you think this is a lot, you should've seen the behind the scenes of the Yin—Bunchuu-sama was often entombed!”

“Terrifying,” muttered Youzen, grabbing the top sheet off the stack and scanning it. It was the start of a report of the different kinds of crops that could potentially be grown on Horai, and where and how they might be grown, all inked in careful, precise handwriting. Choukei turned to walk out the door.

“Oh, hold on a second,” Youzen said, putting the paper in his hand down. Choukei turned around again.

“Yeah? You want another cup of tea?”

Inwardly Youzen winced, hoping he hadn't been making too much use of Choukei as a glorified errand boy. “Not right now. Actually, I wanted to thank you for getting Nentou to give us a break.”

Choukei looked bashful. “Aw, you're welcome, I guess. I just thought—we're not machines, you know? We can't stay cooped up in these little rooms day in, day out, signing papers. It'd make anyone crazy.”

Youzen nodded in agreement.

“Bunchuu-sama did something similar back when he worked for the Yin,” Choukei continued. “He'd always make sure his subordinates had some time to breathe, though I kept trying to go in on my days off to help him.” The youkai man frowned. “He was very bad at taking his own advice. He'd send me to rest when he'd been working five days straight, can you imagine!”

“Wow,” said Youzen politely.

Choukei smiled wistfully. “He was a wonderful man. A wonderful leader. I—”

Youzen blinked. Choukei's face had flushed a deep red, and he looked like he was about to cry. Then he took a deep breath, shook himself, and was smiling again. “I should be going now! Nentou will fuss if I delay too long, you know how he gets.”

Youzen stared after him as he left, marvelling at how fast Choukei had recovered. Youzen wished he were capable of returning to normal so quickly after being thrown off course. What did Choukei have that he didn't?

 _He has his wife,_ the voice in his head told him. _And Nentou has Ryuukitsu, for that matter. Both of them have people who support them. You don't have anyone._

Yeah yeah, Youzen told it, glumly stretching out his arms to flop his upper body down on his desk—only to jerk back upright with a quiet yelp when the mala on his left wrist pinched the sensitive skin there. He rubbed at the injured area, turning the mala around a time or two so it would sit differently, letting his fingers linger on the soothing surface of the beads.

“You're right,” he murmured quietly. “I'm not entirely alone.” He was, in fact, surrounded by people—people who seemed to hold him in varying shades of awe and regard, undeserving as he was of such respect. It would not be impossible for him to rebuild a support network. All he had to do was pick one person and reach out...

...Which sounded pretty impossible.

Youzen sighed, returning his attention to the stack of farming papers, giving it a thorough read this time. It was interesting in its own way: the author discussed areas of Horai with similar climates to Yin farmland, and how they might get seed crop from earth to cultivate it on Horai. There was also discussion of existing crop already growing on Horai that were similar to native earth plants, and how it might be beneficial to simply work with those instead, provided they had the same nutritional make-up and were safe to digest. Youzen was sure they would be safe; if Jyoka had been trying to shape earth so exactly to her image, she would have done her best to make sure every last detail was correct, including the native plant life. Even if the earthly versions of Horai's plants were not quite up to par with their older relatives, they'd likely be close enough to be exchangeable. They'd have to run tests to be sure, but that could be arranged...

Youzen paused in his reading, pulling out a blank sheet of paper and jotting down a note to talk to Unchuushi about it. He wasn't sure if plant life fell under the scientist sennin's expertise, but if not Unchuushi could at least point him in the right direction. He frowned softly to himself. He should probably do that today, after work, though just thinking about not going straight home made him more tired.

But he couldn't give in to that feeling. He already had one day off to rest; he couldn't shirk tasks like this, not when the health of this tiny nation depended on them. He felt at times like he was holding something unbelievably fragile in the palms of his hands. It was like an embryo, its tiny, faint heartbeat the only sign it would one day live, and he feared the slightest misstep would shatter it. Perhaps one day this thing they called Horai Island would become a magnificent hawk, flying through the sky on its own wings—but that would only happen if Youzen didn't drop its egg.

Youzen took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. Everyone was depending on him. Everyone had chosen him to bear this weight and he couldn't let them down. If he couldn't answer to everyone's expectations of him, he didn't deserve the title of Headmaster they had bestowed him. Kyoushu, kyoushu, kyoushu. It hung around his neck like a noose, a threat of what would happen should he ever slip up, should he ever falter. If he couldn't be what was wanted of him, then he wasn't good for anything, was he?

* * *

The sun was low in the sky when Youzen finally emerged from his office. He took a deep breath of the cool evening air, looking at the vivid orange sky. It was a good thing the weather was still nice; he only had a nebulous idea where Unchuushi's laboratory was, and he'd hate to have to find it in low visibility. Checking to make sure the note he'd prepared was in his pocket, Youzen set out at a fast clip, hoping to get the visit done and over with before it got dark.

Even with the good weather and his running pace, it took him over an hour to reach the boulder that Unchuushi had made his lab in. Unlike Taiitsu's, which was long and oval, Unchuushi's was almost perfectly circular, the outside much rougher and darker. In the half-light of the setting sun it looked almost like a ball of roots still full of dirt, an illusion accented by the fact Unchuushi had leashed his rock of choice to a nearby mountain with several long, thick chains. Youzen hadn't the faintest idea why Unchuushi had deemed that necessary; if the rock should fall for whatever reason, it would only smash to pieces against the mountain now, instead of against the ground.

Well, far be it from him to critique a mad scientist's design whims. Youzen stood outside for a minute, catching his breath, looking morosely at how fast the light was fading around him. He didn't _need_ the light of day to return to his own home. He could see well enough after dark; most sendou had slightly augmented senses due to their sennin blood, even if they were nowhere near what a tennen doushi had. His youkai blood seemed to give him an edge in that regard as well, though he didn't like dwelling on that. He'd spent too long desperately trying to be a normal human to celebrate his differences.

But this was no time to be thinking about things like that. He had things to be doing and not a lot of time to do them in. Squaring his shoulders, Youzen strode confidently into the open doorway of Unchuushi's laboratory.

His confidence was short-lived, however, as the inside of the building showed itself to be a veritable warren of corridors. Youzen passed by several locked doors, through two small open rooms crammed with glass beakers full of mysterious liquids, past one empty supply closet and one full one, before he finally admitted to himself that he was utterly lost and had no idea where he should be going. In the low, artificial light, every corridor looked the same, as did every door. For a minute Youzen wondered if he'd accidentally wandered into the stomach of some giant beast, and by going further in he would be sealing his doom—

He smacked his cheeks. Working himself into a panic over a blatant falsehood would accomplish absolutely nothing. He was just overtired, so all he needed to do was find Unchuushi or a place Unchuushi was sure to visit soon, leave his note, and go home to bed.

With renewed determination, Youzen picked up his pace. Sooner or later he had to reach some kind of door or room that was important, and then he could leave. He tried not to think about how he'd find his way back out again. Maybe he'd find a laundry closet he could spend the night in, depressing as that was.

Eventually he emerged into a large hall populated with metal tables neatly organized in rows. Above each table was a circular light and several arms of machinery for purposes Youzen couldn't even begin to guess at. Youzen sighed, running a hand through his hair. It seemed like an important room. Maybe he could find an obvious control panel or somewhere he could stick his note—was that a person?

Youzen made his way over to a table on the far side of the room. On it sat Raishinshi, one knee hugged to his chest, the other leg swinging aimlessly off the side of the table. Divested of all his usual armour, he looked smaller than Youzen remembered, a reminder of how young he really was. One of his wings was spread out on the table beside him, held carefully at an awkward angle.

“Oh, Raishinshi,” Youzen said. Raishinshi looked up at him, seemingly surprised he was there.

“Youzen,” Raishinshi said. “'Sup?”

“I'm looking for Unchuushi,” Youzen said.

Raishinshi rolled his eyes, leaning back. “Yeah, you and me both,” he said, sounding thoroughly annoyed. “He's supposed to be looking at my wing, but he wandered off, like, forever ago! I'm so bored, man.”

Youzen made a noise he hoped came across as sympathetic. Then he frowned. “You hurt your wing?”

“Yeah,” Raishinshi replied, sulkily. “Got into a scuffle on patrol. I tried to break up a fight but they suddenly decided to tag team me instead, and one of 'em clipped my wing. Bastard.”

“I don't suppose they learned a lesson about cooperation from all that,” Youzen said drily. Raishinshi let out a groan.

“Man, you think humans and youkai are ever gonna get along? Now that we kicked Jyoka's ass everyone seems to be fighting again. What's gonna happen to us?”

Youzen felt a cold chill settle in the pit of his stomach. This was one of his greatest fears, that despite all they had faced together, despite the common bond of being sendou, the humans and the youkai living on Horai would never be able to coexist. That they would hate each other forever, and there would be more children like him, shut out from both sides and hated for the crime of simply existing.

“I think,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “that everyone is just... stressed. This is a big transition, and it's been hard on all of us. Some people just choose to blow off steam a little... less constructively.”

Raishinshi sighed, laying back completely on the table, careful of his injured wing. “If you say so. You're smart, so I believe you, but I dunno...”

Looking to change the topic, Youzen leaned forward to examine Raishinshi's outstretched wing. The only visible injury was a long, thin scratch from the alula to the wingtip that had already scabbed over, but perhaps there was something internal Youzen couldn't see, based on the angle Raishinshi was holding it at.

“Do you need Unchuushi to look at your wing?” Youzen asked. “I mean, does it have to be him specifically?”

“Yeah,” said Raishinshi sullenly. “I tried getting just a normal doctor to look at it instead of that whackjob, but none of 'em are sure what to do with it because it's not natural. I mean, no human walks around with a buncha wings stuck to their back, usually.”

Youzen hmmed. “Maybe a youkai doctor would have a better idea...” he said, more to himself than to Raishinshi.

Raishinshi's eyebrows went up. “...I hadn't thought of that.”

Youzen shrugged, feeling embarrassed and defensive suddenly. “Well, it was just a thought. I figured maybe someone from there would have some kind of experience in... having... more than four limbs.” He trailed off at the end, the words not coming to him like they should have. Damn, he just wanted to be in bed.

Having sat back up, Raishinshi was nodding, oblivious to Youzen's inner turmoil. “Hey, yeah, that makes sense.” His face lit up. “I'll have to try that next time. I mean, I can't just leave now that I'm here, that stupid master would probably hunt me down or something.” He gave an exaggerated shiver.

“Speaking of your stupid master,” Youzen said, seizing his chance. “I have a note to give him. I'd hoped to speak to him in person, but...”

“Yeah, you're probably really busy now, right? Being the Headmaster and everything. You want me to give it to him?”

Youzen nodded, pulling the note he'd written out of his pocket and handing it to Raishinshi. “Please, and thank you. I appreciate it.”

Raishinshi shrugged. “Hey, no problem. A hero helps out where he can, after all!”

Youzen smiled, cheered by Raishinshi's familiar enthusiasm. “Yes, that he does. Ah, before I go, I have one last question for Mr. Hero.”

Raishinshi puffed his chest out proudly. “Ask away!”

“...How do I get out of here?”

* * *

With Raishinshi's instructions to guide him, Youzen was able to make it out of Unchuushi's laboratory in a little under ten minutes. The last light of day had long since faded; the stars shone brightly in the rich night sky, their faint twinkling the only light in the visible landscape. Horai had a little artificial moon that orbited it in much the same way the true moon orbited the earth, but it had yet to rise above the mountains. Youzen wondered what the point of making an artificial moon was. Despite Horai's surface appearance, in its core it was a spaceship, was it not?

Perhaps the First People missed looking at their moon so much they'd made a new one, Youzen thought idly as he concentrated on finding the path in the low light. It was doable but took focus, and as tired as he was, Youzen was afraid he'd slip and fall. While it wouldn't be fatal—sendou could not die unless they were intentionally killed, and at any rate Youzen had several methods of catching himself—it was an experience Youzen would rather not have.

Making his way home took longer than it should have because of his slow pace. By the time he'd reached his house, Horai's little moon had cleared the mountains and was well on its way to the sky's zenith. In the wan silver light, Youzen gratefully saw the door to his house outlined against the rock it was set into. The person sitting in front of it looked washed out and monochrome, and for a moment Youzen couldn't tell if they were breathing.

He stopped short. There was someone sitting in front of his door, their knees pulled up to their chest, their head drooped over their shoulder. Why were they at his house? Were they injured? What was going on? Gods, why was this happening to him tonight when he just wanted to go to bed—but that was a terrible thing to think. He had to help whoever this was.

He bent down next to the person, crinkling his nose as the strong scent of alcohol washed over him. They stirred at his approach, looking up at him with hazy violet eyes. Youzen blinked in surprise. This was—

“...Fugen?!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for alcohol and mild gore text in this one.

Dangerous thing: an open arm, an open channel.

* * *

There was something about artificial light that, coupled with darkness outside, made things seem less real, Youzen thought. Everything in his house almost seemed like a ghost of itself, like it would fade away if he looked away for too long. Especially the figure sprawled on his couch watching him with an almost-eerie smile on his face—Youzen was half-convinced if he took his eyes off Fugen, he'd vanish into the night.

Making eye contact with the interloper currently taking up half his couch, Youzen poured himself a full glass of clear liquor. If Fugen was this far gone then _he_ wanted to be too, damn it, consequences be damned. The next day was his off day; he could afford to let go a little. Youzen took a sip, grimacing at the taste. It burned his throat as he swallowed.

“So,” Youzen said, setting his cup down. This felt like a shadowverse re-enactment of Fugen's last visit here. How long ago had that been? At least a month, if not more. It felt lifetimes away.

“So,” Fugen echoed, smiling. Youzen frowned at him, annoyed.

“You're at my house.”

“I am,” Fugen agreed dreamily, tilting his head to one side, still smiling. Youzen grit his teeth.

“Why are you at my house?”

Fugen's smile slipped. “I... miss Bou-chan.”

Youzen sat back a little, confused. He took another sip of his liquor, feeling the warmth pool in his stomach. “What does that have to do with me?”

Fugen's smile came back. “He was close to you... I mean... He had an interest in you. He kept saying your name when we were in Kingou. Youzen, Youzen, Youzen. He kept worrying about you...”

Youzen felt his throat tighten for reasons that had nothing to do with alcohol consumption. He glared into his glass, debating if he could make himself swallow the whole thing in one go.

“So I thought...” Fugen continued. “I thought I'd find something of him here, with you...”

The glass Youzen was looking at blurred into an abstract oval, and the breath he took in sounded suspiciously close to a sob. He squeezed his eyes shut, wiping away the tears that were threatening to spill. Breathe in, breathe out. Don't cry. Don't cry.

“...No,” Youzen said when he thought he could speak again. “I have... I have nothing.”

It hurt. It was a wound that cut into him like a wire wrapped too tight around his arm. Taikoubou had left nothing of himself behind; all Youzen had—all anyone had—to remember him by were memories. Memories that would distort and fade with time, until perhaps the person known as 'Taikoubou' would entirely cease to exist—

Youzen made a strangled noise that he hoped Fugen would be too drunk to interpret as the sound of distress it was. He picked up his glass of liquor and drained it in three large gulps, ignoring the unpleasant heat of too much alcohol all at once. Then he slammed his glass back down, refilling it, trying not to notice how his hands were shaking. Why did this happen every time Fugen appeared? Why was he doing this to Youzen? Was this some sort of punishment for something? Would he have to bear this sorrow for the rest of his life? It didn't feel like it would ever go away. It felt like an infection that was eating him alive. It felt like a death sentence.

Fugen was looking at him, that fake smile he wore gone now, wearing an expression uncomfortably close to pity. Youzen wanted to punch him suddenly, or to pick him up by his too-large shirt and throw him bodily out of his house. It wouldn't be hard. He'd carried Fugen in; the younger sennin hardly weighed a thing.

“I think,” Fugen said, his smile returning, “we are actually very much alike.”

“ _What?”_

A churning mass of feelings boiled in Youzen's gut. He thought it might have been anger, but he wasn't sure. He didn't overly feel angry. He felt uncomfortably warm. Why had he wanted to drink again? Idiot. He was an idiot. He was a violent monster. Why was Fugen comparing them? Saying they were _alike_? He couldn't be more opposite the angelic sennin than if he tried. Fugen was so soft and sweet and kind he'd given Taikoubou a needle to use as a fish-hook so he wouldn't hurt the fish. Youzen had daydreams about finding Outenkun, capturing him, taking his hands and _ripping_ him to pieces, scattering blood and viscera all over the room—

Youzen coughed as a violent wave of nausea swept over him. He pressed a shaking, clammy hand to his mouth and took three deep breaths through his nose. He was aware of Fugen watching him with concern, and he hated it. Go away, he wanted to scream. Don't look at me. I don't want to exist to you.

“...Youzen, are you okay?”

“How,” Youzen said, his breathing laboured. “How, are we alike.”

Fugen leaned forward. Youzen had the feeling Fugen wanted to reach out to him, physically, to extend an arm and put a hand on his shoulder as comfort. He was too far away to reach where Youzen sat, which was good, because if Fugen had touched him now he didn't know what he would do. What was happening to him? Was this some sort of fit? Was that really all it took to completely undo him? A long day, a glass of alcohol, an upsetting conversation? Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. He really was falling apart. At this rate he'd never be able to face his shishou again.

“Well,” Fugen said. He was swaying back and forth ever so slightly, like his balance was off. “It's that... We're similar. Because we both have masks...”

“...Huh?”

Caught off guard by Fugen's unexpected reply, Youzen felt his emotions momentarily settle, too confused by this new development to decide what to do next. Masks? What was he talking about? Surely he didn't mean that literally.

“Yes...” Fugen said, fingering the hem of his shirt. “My true 'self'... I only ever showed that to Bou-chan. The 'self' I let others see... That's someone different. That mask I wear...”

Youzen just stared at his guest. What... was he saying? He felt torn. Part of him wanted Fugen to keep talking, had to know what he'd say next. But another part of him, a small, scared part, wanted to scream and cry and tell Fugen _stop talking, don't say it, don't say it._

“You wear one too? Youzen.”

_Don't say it, don't say it._

“Your true 'self'... That's someone you've hidden, isn't it.” Fugen leaned back against the couch again, closing his eyes. “Gyokutei knew... Bou-chan seemed like he knew. Or he wanted to know. He must've seen some of it...”

Youzen swallowed hard. He felt top heavy, like his centre of balance had shifted upwards, his head a rock balanced precariously on straw limbs. Was this drunkenness? He didn't feel altered mentally. He felt so tired. He wanted to go to bed.

“I don't see how that's any of your business.”

Fugen's plastic smile was back on his face. “Well... That's true. It's not. I don't know you... Not your fake self, not your true self. I don't know 'Youzen' at all...”

 _Good,_ that tiny, scared part of Youzen thought. But another voice inside of him was wondering, how good was that, really?

“...Why are you here?”

Even leaning against the couch, Fugen's head lolled from side to side, as if some invisible force was tugging him back and forth. Youzen wondered if he ought to be concerned, but his first-hand experiences with alcohol were too limited to draw any sort of conclusion.

“I...” Fugen said. “We have both lost... that person. It's tiring... having no one I can show that true self to... I am very tired.”

Youzen took another sip of liquor, feeling rather petulant. He was tired too. Fugen should go to bed and leave him alone so he could go to bed. Happy ending.

“So I thought...” Fugen laughed. “If we were both lacking that person... Perhaps we could become that person for each other.”

Youzen raised his eyebrows. That... He didn't know how to feel about that. Hadn't he wanted someone like that? Wasn't Fugen right, with all this talk about masks and true selves? But Gods, that rankled, having a complete stranger make him cry on two separate occasions and then decide he knew everything about him. And he still didn't know anything about Fugen. What was he supposed to do, just start spilling all his secrets and fears like it was nothing? No way. Absolutely not.

“What a foolish thought...” Fugen murmured. Youzen looked up at him, surprised, and saw that he was crying.

“...Fugen?”

The blue-haired sennin let out a sob. “We can't replace... It's not... replaceable. Bou-chan...” He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Youzen felt a pang in his heart. He stood up, carefully, standing still for a moment while his body struggled to find its balance. Then he crossed the small distance to his couch, sitting down next to Fugen. Awkwardly Youzen put his arm around Fugen. The younger sennin leaned against him. Youzen felt his body shaking as he cried.

“I'm sorry,” Youzen said, even though he wasn't really sure what he was apologising for.

“No, I should be...” Fugen said, voice muffled. “What was I thinking, showing up here like this...”

“It's okay,” said Youzen, and was surprised to find that he meant it. “Um. You can sleep on my couch tonight.”

Fugen wiped at his face with one of his sleeves. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Thank you.”

Youzen nodded, then stood up. “I'll get you a blanket.”

Fugen nodded, but didn't move, hunched over with his face in his hands. Youzen felt that same pang in his chest again. Of course Fugen was hurting too—hurting more than Youzen, probably. He'd known Taikoubou longer and suffered worse in the Sennin War. Where had he put his spare blankets? He'd shuffled things around in his search for Koutenken the other day. He remembered seeing a spare set, but if they were from his and Shishou's old house they needed to be washed before they were used.

Poking around in his closet, Youzen could not immediately locate anything useable as a blanket, so he settled for the next-best thing, which was ripping the top blanket off his own bed. He still had his top sheet, and he was still feeling awfully warm, so he'd be fine. Bundling the fabric up in his arms, he headed back out to Fugen.

He was slumped against the arm of Youzen's couch, all folded in upon himself. For a second Youzen thought he might already be asleep, but he stirred as Youzen approached.

“Here,” Youzen said, draping the blanket over Fugen, who made feeble attempts to help. Satisfied that his guest was tucked in properly, Youzen went to turn out the lights.

“Youzen...”

“Yes?”

The top half of Fugen's head peeked out from under the blanket. “Thank you.”

Youzen gave him a tired smile. “Of course. Sleep well.”

Fugen closed his eyes, and Youzen turned out the light.

* * *

Youzen woke up to light streaming through his bedroom window. It was later than he usually rose, but he'd gone to bed later the night before, so it couldn't be helped. For a moment he just lay in bed, feeling Koutenken's familiar bulk against his back, trying to discern if he had a hangover. He didn't think so; he felt fine, if a little muzzy in the head from throwing off his sleep schedule.

With a sigh, Youzen rolled over and slung an arm over his dog. He'd had a harder than usual time falling to sleep last night, even with the alcohol's soporific effects. Lacking the weight of his extra blanket had discomfited him, even though he was fine temperature-wise; he'd ended up calling out Koutenken to try and make up for it. It had worked okay, but it still wasn't what he was used to, and there wasn't really much extra room in the bed for a creature as large as Koutenken.

When he'd decided he was as rested as he was going to be, Youzen threw his sheet off of himself with a groan and slung his legs out of bed. There was a little bit of pressure in his head that would develop into a headache if he wasn't careful, and his mouth tasted wretched. Grimacing, he headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Idly observing his reflection in the mirror as he brushed, Youzen wondered if Fugen was still on his couch, or if he'd woken up earlier and left. He turned the events of the night before over in his mind. Fugen's proposition had been alcohol-induced, but he wouldn't have said it if there wasn't some part of him that wanted it, right? He kept turning the idea over in his head. It was strange, like a pebble caught in his shoe, but he found it was not entirely unpleasant. Fugen had been right: he did wear a persona in his day-to-day life, a mask he refused to let others see behind. His shishou had been the only person he let see his true self, and he'd desperately wanted to let Taikoubou in, but he wasn't sure if he'd been able to. He'd been too afraid of his suusu rejecting him, too used to walking and talking like a perfect doll, even though Taikoubou had seen him at his lowest moment and still reached out his hand...

But he hadn't chosen to want to let Taikoubou in; if anything Taikoubou had chosen him. So just pointing at Fugen and saying _Yes, I will trust him_ felt... odd. It didn't feel natural. But, well. If Fugen was someone Suusu trusted, and Youzen trusted Suusu with his life, then by extension he could trust Fugen.

Couldn't he?

Finished with his routine, Youzen made his way out to his living room. Fugen was still on his couch, blanket half fallen off. Upon closer inspection, Youzen saw he was still asleep. His face looked pale, and his unconscious expression seemed to Youzen to be one of discomfort.

For a minute he just stood, gazing at Fugen. Youzen had never gotten the chance to look at Fugen before—really _look_ at him, to take in all his lines and shapes and unique characteristics. Like how his light blue hair, now damp with sweat, curled softly about his head, and it was those curls that gave it its volume, not gel or the halo as Youzen had initially assumed. He ran his eyes over the gentle curve of Fugen's cheeks, observed the contrast of his long eyelashes against his faintly freckled skin, noted how his lips were slightly open as he slept. Youzen watched as Fugen turned his head and stirred—

He jolted back, heart hammering in his chest, a spike of anxiety lancing through him. What would he say if Fugen woke to find Youzen staring at him? How would he explain that? He could tell the truth—his transformation abilities combined with his perfectionist streak led him to try and observe even the minutest details of other people—but voicing that out loud made it sound foolish, and probably a little creepy. He doubted Fugen would find it an acceptable explanation for being ogled in his sleep.

When it became apparent Fugen was not waking and instead just stirring in his sleep, Youzen leaned back in to continue his observation, his desire to complete the task he'd started overriding the voice telling him he should quit while ahead. His eyes caught the glint of metal amidst the curls of Fugen's hair, and, looking closer, Youzen saw Fugen was wearing simple earrings—little round balls of mother-of-pearl that glowed subtly in the morning sunlight.

Sweeping his gaze downward, Youzen observed the line of Fugen's jaw against his neck, catching sight of small freckles under his jaw. Youzen ran his eyes over the pale hollow of Fugen's throat, the corded tendons in his neck, his collar bones jutting out from the surrounding flesh. Not for the first time, Youzen wondered how Fugen's shirt managed to stay on his slim frame. At one point Youzen had thought it must have been the work of Taikyoukufuin, but there was no sign of Fugen having brought his paopei with him.

Observation complete, Youzen moved away from his unconscious guest, feeling embarrassed that he'd been looking at him so intently. He wondered if he should wake Fugen up. His shishou had never drank to excess, so Youzen didn't entirely know what he should be doing in this situation. He decided to let Fugen sleep; rest was good for you when you were sick, and he figured a hangover wasn't too terribly different from a cold.

Moving to the kitchen, Youzen set about making breakfast for the two of them, moving as quietly as he could to avoid disturbing Fugen. First he put a pot of rice on, then some water to make miso broth with. He took a couple eggs out from his refrigerator, along with some vegetables to put in the broth.

A groan interrupted Youzen mid-chop. Startled, he looked to where Fugen was lying. He'd rolled over onto his back, throwing an arm over his face. Koutenken was sitting next to the couch, his tail wagging, muzzle resting on Fugen's shoulder.

“Ko... Kon...” Fugen said weakly as Youzen crossed to where he lay.

“Koutenken,” Youzen said sternly. His dog looked up at him and thumped his tail. Youzen frowned.

“Stop disturbing our guest,” Youzen told the dog. He ambled to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen, sniffing at the floor around where Youzen had been preparing food. Youzen sighed.

“He's not... a real dog...?” Fugen asked. Youzen looked down at him. He looked awful.

“No,” he said. “He's a paopei. But he acts just like a real dog. I think the only thing he doesn't do that an animal would is eat.”

Fugen let out a little exhalation that was probably supposed to be a laugh. “Cute...”

Youzen smiled. “Yeah. He's a good companion.”

Fugen was trying to sit up, which made Youzen frown again. “Hey, shouldn't you still be lying down? You don't look well.”

Fugen shook his head. “Can't,” he said. “Too nauseated.” He leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes, pale and sweaty.

Youzen hovered nearby, not sure of what he could do to help or what would be permissible for him to do. Fugen just sat, looking miserable.

“Um...” Youzen said after a minute. “Can I get you anything?”

Fugen swallowed and licked his lips. “Water... please.”

Youzen nodded, trotting back to the kitchen and filling a tall glass with cool water. He looked at his pot of bubbling water thoughtfully. Fugen had mentioned nausea... Setting the glass of water down, he rummaged around in his cabinets and came out with a small ginger root about the size of his thumb. Slicing it, he dropped it into the pot, turning the heat down to a simmer. Then he picked the glass of water back up and returned to Fugen. Frowning, he looked for a place to set it down, but found none.

“Water,” he said, offering the glass to Fugen. Fugen took it gratefully, taking a small sip. Youzen grabbed one of the chairs from his kitchen and dragged it over to the couch, nudging it up to where it would be in easy reach.

Fugen was giving him an odd look. “...Is everything all right?” Youzen asked.

“Yes... I just never would have thought... you'd be the mother hen type.”

Youzen felt his cheeks redden, much to his embarrassment. He opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't find the words. “N-no, I... I'm not...” Then he whirled around to get back to his food, making a _tch_ noise of irritation. Really! What was it about Fugen that always caught him so off-balance?

Behind him, Fugen giggled softly. Youzen heard the thunk of the glass being set down on the wood of the chair. Savagely he stirred the ginger brew, dropping it down on the stove and rummaging for another pot to make water for miso. At the very least, this time Youzen wasn't crying over Suusu or something equally embarrassing. But really! Calling him a mother hen? All he was doing was taking care of a house-guest like he should—one who had turned up unannounced late at night, he might add. He was just being polite.

Ah, the rice was done. Youzen grabbed two bowls and served it up, giving Fugen a modest portion. He reached for the eggs, then paused, sticking his head into the living room. Fugen looked up at him.

“Do you eat eggs?” Youzen asked.

Fugen shook his head slightly. Of course. “No... I don't. You do?”

Youzen shrugged. Sendou, at least human sendou, were supposed to be vegetarian, but not all followed that rule. In his case... “I need the extra protein. Back on Kongrong I could take supplements, but they aren't really available here yet.”

Whatever his youkai blood was, it wasn't something that could take a strictly vegetarian diet. Once, his shishou had told him that when he'd first come to Kongrong, he'd cried and refused all food, much to Gyokutei's growing distress. It had been a while before he could understand what was wrong.

 _You were a rather troublesome child,_ Gyokutei had said, smiling fondly at him and reaching over to ruffle his hair. Youzen reached up to smooth his hair at the memory.

Back on Kongrong, he'd been able to follow the vegetarian rule by taking supplements prepared for him by Unchuushi, like he'd told Fugen. In the upheaval following the move to Horai, though, he hadn't been able to get them, and he'd been forced to add eggs and fish into his diet. Eggs weren't that big of a deal—he'd eaten them before, since whether or not they counted as vegetarian seemed to vary from person to person. The fish was more upsetting to him, but... they did taste good.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Youzen cracked one of the eggs over his bowl of rice, adding a dash of soy sauce and stirring it well. Then he grabbed the pot of ginger tea off the stove, rummaging for a mug and strainer. Carefully he poured the dark liquid into the mug, then set the pot back down. Grabbing the smaller bowl of plain rice and the mug of tea, he headed back to Fugen.

“Here, breakfast,” Youzen said, setting both mug and tea down on the chair next to Fugen's glass of water. Fugen leaned forward, curious.

“Rice, and ginger tea,” Youzen explained. “Oh! You need chopsticks. Hang on.” He trotted back to the kitchen, spying Koutenken under the table. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks for Fugen, and then turned around to give them to his guest. Fugen had picked up the mug of tea and was sniffing it cautiously.

“It's just ginger and water. I strained it, so there's none of the root left in it for you. Do you want some honey for it?”

Fugen looked up at Youzen. “No thank you.”

Youzen handed him the chopsticks. Fugen set them down next to the bowl of rice, then took another sip of water. Then he leaned back against the couch again, giving Youzen his standard smile.

There was something... ethereal about Fugen, Youzen thought, even halo-less and laid flat against the couch with illness. His soft smile and his slender frame, made more exaggerated by the too-loose clothing he wore, pulled you in somehow. Idly Youzen remembered Fugen had had a group of admirers back on Kongrong, a little fanclub that ooed and ahhed when the Juunisen was near. He'd had one too, now that he thought about it, despite his repeated attempts to tell them to stop, that he wasn't interested.

 _Some people see an icy heart as a challenge to melt it,_ his shishou had told him when he'd complained, which had only made Youzen more annoyed. He wasn't a challenge for someone to overcome, or a riddle for them to solve. He was his own person, not a prize.

“Youzen...? You're staring...”

“Uh—”

Startled and embarrassed, Youzen jerked back a step, feeling his face heat up again. What the hell was wrong with him? He glared at a nondescript corner of the room, trying to will his face to stop being red. This was bad. For all the talk last night of opening up to each other, to have his composure slip this badly—he wasn't—he didn't want to open up like _this._ He hadn't agreed to—

“Your water's boiling,” Fugen commented mildly, reaching for the mug of tea.

Youzen slunk back into the kitchen, yanking the pot of water off the stove. Koutenken emerged from under the kitchen table and leaned against his side, sensing his master's distress. Youzen reached down and idly patted him with one hand as he dumped cut vegetables and miso paste into the pot, stirring angrily. Seriously, what was wrong with him? Was he still drunk or something? Or had the unexpectedness of Fugen's visit thrown him off-kilter this badly? He wanted to crawl back in bed and scream. He hated feeling like this, hated feeling this vulnerable, hated showing his belly to anyone but his most trusted people—and they were both gone. What a joke. He only ever wanted to open up to people he fully trusted, but how could expect to fully trust someone new if he couldn't open up to them? If talking to someone made him the least bit distressed, he shied away from it, but didn't everything but banal pleasantries discomfit him on some level?

Youzen took a savage bite of his egg and rice. It had gone cold. He felt tears of anger and frustration prickle in the corners of his eyes, and he set his bowl down, trying not to completely lose it. He gripped the counter in his hands, knuckles white, and took several slow, steady breaths. Think of something else. Think of a calming mantra. Think of the veins in a leaf. Think of his shishou's hands, clasped in prayer, his soft voice gently chanting a sutra.

Beside him, Koutenken yawned noisily and nipped at his arm. Sighing, Youzen cast a mournful glance down at the dog, reaching to rub his head. Koutenken licked his hand reassuringly.

Whatever his emotions were doing, he had to keep them in control at least until Fugen left. Once he was gone, Youzen could throw whatever kind of fit he wanted with Koutenken as his only witness. He didn't have to pretend everything was okay. He just had to hold on for a little bit.

“The tea is nice,” Fugen said from his position on the couch. “Thank you.”

“Huh? Oh... You're welcome.” Youzen took a breath. Wasn't this an opportunity to open up? He should take it. “Shishou used to make it for me when I felt sick to my stomach, so I had it a lot as a kid.”

Fugen looked at him, curious. “Were you sick often...?”

Youzen shook his head. “Not... really? I mean. I rarely actually fell ill. But when I was younger my stomach was a lot more sensitive...” That, and neither he nor Gyokutei knew what sort of food would upset it until after it had been eaten. Youzen hadn't been shipped from Kingou with an instruction manual.

“Mmm,” said Fugen, taking another sip of the water. Youzen set his breakfast down on the kitchen table and sat down to eat it properly. Even if his rice was room temperature, the soup was still hot. He ate in silence, Fugen either not willing or not able to carry on the conversation. Childishly, Youzen sulked; if he was going to try and open up to Fugen, it would only be fair if Fugen extended the same courtesy to him. The rational part of his brain chided him—if Fugen was feeling as bad as he looked, he probably just wasn't able to hold decent conversation. Youzen snuck a glance at his guest. He had yet to touch his rice. In fact, he almost looked like he was napping.

Swallowing his mouthful of food thoughtfully, Youzen wondered again what exactly he was supposed to do in this situation. He couldn't very well kick Fugen out until he was feeling better, but he felt odd about leaving Fugen alone in his house. What had he been planning to do today? Laundry, at the least, and general tidying. Had there been anything else...? Youzen couldn't remember. There was an assortment of work-related things he could follow up on in addition to his personal chores, but he didn't think he'd been intending to do any today.

Laundry he'd have to leave the house for, and he couldn't really clean _around_ Fugen. Youzen took a sip of his soup. Sitting and staring at Fugen awkwardly was also an option, he supposed, but it wasn't one he was particularly interested in. He finished his breakfast mulling over his options in his head.

“Youzen...”

Youzen looked up from his empty dishes. “Hm? Do you need anything?”

Fugen was looking at his hands, seemingly upset. “I'm sorry for... being such a bother. I shouldn't have come here...”

Youzen wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that. “You can stay until you're feeling better,” he said after a moment. “You're not... I was just planning to do chores today. You're not keeping me from doing anything.” Except cleaning the couch, but he could always do that after Fugen had left, and he didn't use it often so it wasn't vital.

Fugen smiled slightly, still looking at his hands. “You're very polite.”

Youzen made a non-committal noise. “Shishou always stressed the importance of hospitality.” He didn't think he was polite. If he really was, he wouldn't have entertained thoughts of booting Fugen out and would have just accepted his presence.

Fugen leaned back against the couch, switching his gaze from his hands to the ceiling. “Gyokutei... you mention him often.”

Youzen bristled. “He's my master. He's important to me.”

“Mmmm...” Fugen closed his eyes. “Of course.”

There were times Youzen couldn't tell if his conversational partner had said something weird, or if he himself was just completely out of touch. Now was one of those times. He knew his relationship with Gyokutei differed from a normal master and pupil—after all, most masters didn't raise their disciples from near infancy. Even if the master acted as a parental figure, the usual disciple would have some memory of their real parents. Kongrong didn't scout children younger than 8 for that reason—a child taken from its parents too early would be irrevocably harmed.

Not that Youzen needed someone else to tell him that.

Well, if Fugen's master had been Genshi Tenson, perhaps the closeness Youzen had with Gyokutei would seem odd. Youzen couldn't recall if Fugen had been a doushi under a different master before he'd been promoted to Juunisen, but if the old man had been Fugen's master from the start then they wouldn't have had a close bond. Genshi Tenson had always been too busy managing Kongrong's affairs to ever pay much attention to his pupils. Youzen had never understood why the old man had bothered taking direct disciples if he was too busy with the Juunisen and the rest of Kongrong to ever look after them properly, but it wasn't his place to comment on that.

Standing up, Youzen grabbed his dishes and deposited them in the sink, giving them a quick rinse. Drying his hands, he stuck his head into the living room again to check on Fugen once more. His guest had fallen back asleep, curled up into a little ball in the corner of the couch, blanket wrapped around him so that Youzen could only see his closed eyes and messy hair above it. It was almost cute, Youzen thought, and he smiled despite himself.

Returning to his dishes to clean them properly, Youzen once more ran over the events of the previous night. This offer of Fugen's... as loathe as he was to admit it, he knew accepting it would be beneficial. He had no idea if a sober Fugen would even want to accept his acceptance, but he figured it couldn't hurt to try. Out of all the people in the Sennin world, Youzen felt like he was equally adrift from all of them, having no existing bonds with anyone. If he approached the idea of finding “someone to bond with” rationally, then Fugen would indeed be top amongst the candidates he would choose. Fugen who had known Taikoubou, Fugen who had commanded his precious suusu's love and trust—he was not Taikoubou himself, and expecting him to be was folly.

But he was close. And that would have to be good enough.


	6. Chapter 6

The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell.  
Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.

* * *

Solid ground under Youzen's feet always felt different to him than standing on one of Kongrong's floating mountains, though by all respects solid rock in the air should be no different than solid dirt on the ground. Perhaps it was the lack of air below his feet, or the sense of vastness all around him as the land swept away from where he stood, stretching unbroken to the horizon in two directions, hemmed distantly by mountains and oceans in two others. Even back on earth, Youzen had always felt something slightly... _off_ whenever he had descended to the human realm and planted his feet on their soil. It was a perfectly tolerable sensation, and the longer he stayed grounded the more he got used to it, but the fact remained that he never truly felt at home unless he was up in the air.

Idly he wondered if any of the other sendou milling about in front of him felt the same way. To the front and left was a tightly bunched group of about ten human sendou; front and right held a loosely-gathered collection of fifteen to twenty youkai. Around them were stakes driven into the ground, roughly three feet in height; some were connected to each other with vibrant yellow yarn, to stand out against the rich green of Horai's grasses. The stakes and yarn blocked out a rudimentary floor plan for a village, sketching out the vague shapes of buildings and other structures.

The sendou gathered in front of him had been chosen to occupy this particular patch of land, and were there to approve what their little village would look like before building would begin. Youzen was overseeing this overseeing, partly because nobody else had remembered it was supposed to happen, and partly because he thought if he stayed in his office one more moment he'd scream. He could only take sitting still and reading papers for so long.

Youzen watched carefully as the two groups milled about the proto-village, his muscles tensed in nervous anticipation of any conflict. He noticed how the youkai didn't seem to mind getting close to the humans, but most of the humans seemed to shy away at getting close to the youkai in turn. Inwardly he sighed. Were things really this tense? He hated being cooped up in his office all day, seeing the world only through words written neatly on paper. He could read a memo that said “youkai-human tensions are increasing lately”, but seeing such tensions in action was another thing entirely.

It was, in fact, a punch to the gut. Wasn't it his job to prevent this exact thing from happening? He'd been doing his damnedest to get things under control as soon as possible, but what if his best wasn't good enough? Wasn't it enough for him to be a figurehead, a freak of nature, the wise almighty half-human, half-youkai, as if he knew anything more about youkai customs and culture than any other human sendou raised on Kongrong—

Ah, a human was approaching him. Seizing the distraction like a lifeline, Youzen gave him what he hoped was a friendly smile.

“Kyoushu-sama,” the man said, appearing rather concerned. Youzen raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“Well...” The man shuffled his feet, looking around nervously. “We've... been chosen to live here?”

“Yes,” Youzen replied, “though nothing is set in stone yet. Is there someone not here you'd want to be with?”

Like much else, housing assignment had been initially decided by lottery, lacking a better method to make arrangements. The groups the lottery machines had spit out had already required some tweaking; random chance cared little for pre-existing relationships between people.

“Er, no,” the man said. “But do we really... I mean, those youkai... We have to live here? With _them?_ ”

Youzen shot the man a withering look and was rewarded with him shrinking back. “Those youkai are sendou just like you,” Youzen said crisply. “There are not to be any segregated villages on Horai. I'm sorry, but you will have to accept the fact that youkai live amongst us now.”

Not waiting for a response, Youzen turned and walked away from the man, feeling uncomfortable. Asking such a thing... Hadn't that man known who he was, known _what_ he was? He'd been raised as a human, by a human, living among humans, but his blood was youkai blood, and he would never truly be human. Once humans found out he was a youkai, something about the way they viewed him changed irrevocably, and they no longer fully accepted him. But the same was true for youkai—once they knew how deeply rooted his human behaviours were, they no longer saw him as a 'real' youkai, and rejected him as well. This “half-human, half-youkai” status that had been awarded him along with his position as headmaster was not a blessing: it was a curse. Instead of understanding both peoples, he understood neither of them, and was barred from entering either side.

It was very, very lonely. The only person Youzen could think of that would have understood was _that_ person, and Youzen would rather shove a knife in his throat than empathize with _him_.

Suddenly Youzen realised there was another person standing in front of him, and he looked up, startled and embarrassed. It was a young youkai girl, her dark brown hair pulled up into two high pigtails, held in place by dark red ribbons. She was looking at him carefully, her brown eyes meeting his and holding his gaze. She was about half a head shorter than him—Fugen's height, Youzen recalled distractedly.

After a minute of them staring at each other, Youzen finally broke the silence. “Um... Can I help you?”

The girl grinned at him. “Nope!”

Youzen blinked in surprise. “No?”

She giggled. “Nope! I just wanted to see our mysterious headmaster up close. You're not so bad, you know? Kinda handsome. The pretty-boy look is definitely my type.”

Ah, so that's how it was. “Thank you,” he replied impassively.

She grinned at him again, sticking out her right hand and holding it expectantly in front of him. “I'm Kyou,” she said. Startled, Youzen just looked at her hand, unsure of what she wanted him to do with it.

“Um...” said Kyou, after a moment. “Have you—here, give me your right hand.”

Cautiously, Youzen extended his hand to Kyou, who grabbed it in her own, shaking their clasped hands up and down a couple of times. Youzen blinked.

“It's a handshake!” Kyou explained cheerfully. “Some of us youkai use it as a greeting, instead of bowing like you humans do.”

“Oh!” said Youzen, surprised and grateful that she'd taken the time to explain it to him. “Thank you,” he said again, and meant it this time. She was still smiling at him, and Youzen found himself smiling back at her despite himself. Normally relentless cheerfulness and pep exhausted him, but he supposed in small doses it could actually be pleasant.

“No problem!” She gave him a little curtsey, pinching the sides of her pleated skirt in both hands and bouncing down-and-up in one smooth motion. “Anything for the headmaster, right? Supporting you is just like helping ourselves!” She grinned. “At least, that's what they keep telling us. I mean, they're not wrong, but I get it, I get it already! I don't need to hear it ten times a day!” She rolled her eyes.

“They?” Youzen asked.

“Yeah, the—those three sisters, you know? Since the Jyuttenkun all got houshined and stuff I guess they're the closest thing we have to authority. I mean, excepting yourself and the real government, of course. But since you guys don't really know what you're doing yet, they've kind of taken charge of the youkai!” Kyou gasped, her eyes going wide. “Oh no, was that rude? That was totally rude. I'm so sorry!”

Youzen made a facial expression halfway between an apologetic smile and a grimace, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear. “Hah, well, it's true we still are learning how to walk, as it were.”

Kyou nodded. “Yeah, it's like, there's so much that needs to be done, and you're trying to do all of it at once, so it's like there's a lack of focus...?”

Youzen blinked. That... was extremely useful information to have. “I see,” he said. “Thank you for telling me all this.”

Surprisingly, Kyou blushed. “I said too much, huh... Well, I better go then! See you around?”

Without waiting for a reply, the girl trotted off, pausing a safe distance away to wave at him. He lifted a hand to wave back half-heartedly, somewhat bemused at her behaviour.

Youzen looked at his right hand, the sensation of his handshake with Kyou still playing over his skin, and then looked up at her retreating figure, silhouetted against the bright blue of Horai's alien sky, the wind tossing her hair and the long green grasses as it played across the landscape. He reached up to tuck his hair behind his ears again, the wind intent on undoing his efforts. Once again he looked at his hand.

Perhaps it wasn't futile. Hard, and incredibly challenging, and a task he would never complete, but not impossible. If he reached out his hand and meant it, truly meant it from the bottom of his heart, then someone would be there to grasp hold. Just like his suusu had done for him, what felt like so many years ago.

Looking up at the clouds drifting across the sky, Youzen took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. There was a feeling lodged in his chest that he wasn't used to, taking root somewhere beneath his ribs. It felt light and airy, like the breeze intent on tousling his hair, buoying him up.

He thought it might be hope.

* * *

There was yelling in the corridor outside his office.

Youzen looked up from his reading distractedly, taking a sip of his stone cold tea. One of the muffled voices sounded like Nentou, though they were still too far away for Youzen to make out any of the words. With a mental shrug, Youzen turned his attention back to the papers in front of him. Incidents with Nentou were far from uncommon. He returned to his reading.

“—can't—”

“—shouldn't _be_ here, you're—”

“—BIG trouble if you don't—”

Youzen frowned, setting his papers down again. The voices were growing closer to his office door instead of further away. One was definitely Nentou; another was Choukei, oddly enough, since he never seemed to get riled up; and there was a third, feminine voice Youzen didn't recognise. Ryuukitsu? he thought, but she seemed less the type to yell than Choukei. Besides, Nentou would rather self-immolate than shout at his precious baby sister. What was going on out there? Surely Nentou wouldn't begrudge him a quick peek...

Before Youzen could even move to get up, the door to his office burst open and someone came rushing in. Youzen leaned back in surprise, watching as his guest turned and slammed the door shut behind herself, the elaborate dress she was wearing twisting around her small body with the force of the motion. Then she turned to face him, her eyes red from crying, nose still running.

Ko Kibi planted her small hands on her hips and gave Youzen a stern glare. “You!” she said, pointing at him. “From today you're going to be my new big brother!”

Youzen blinked. What?

Youzen's office door opened again, and spilling in came Nentou, Choukei, and Ou Kijin. Ah, so she had been the other voice Youzen had heard.

“Kibi,” Kijin said, cajoling. “Come on, he's busy. Let's leave.”

Kibi whirled around. “No!” she shouted, stamping her foot. Then she turned right back around to Youzen. “Well?!”

“Ah...” said Youzen, completely at a loss. He looked at Kijin, hoping for some sort of guidance. She just gave him a panicked face. “Um... Kibi...”

Kibi's lip trembled, and her eyes filled with fresh tears. Oh, _fuck_. Youzen suddenly remembered the last time he'd seen Kibi cry, and his entire body tensed as a wave of fight-or-flight adrenaline came crashing through it.

But Kibi just turned around and ran out of his office, a muffled sob escaping as she departed. Nentou dashed after her, shouting something about rules, and after a moment's panicked consideration Choukei followed suit. Kijin, rather unexpectedly, just sighed and leaned against the wall. She looked very tired.

“Sorry,” Kijin said after a moment. “She... I don't know how she got this idea in her head. That she needs another 'sibling' to 'replace' Dakki.”

Youzen took a thoughtful sip of his tea.

“I'd forgotten,” Kijin said, almost to herself. “She minded Dakki so well that I forgot she doesn't actually... mind. She just loves—loved—Dakki that much.” She reached up to wipe away a tear.

“...Why me?” Youzen asked after a moment.

Kijin shrugged, staring at the ceiling. “Beats me. She said something about you two being the only two sennin who could transform, or something. Id've figured she'd go for that chick from Kongrong who uses water, since she's probably a lot closer to Dakki than you.” A pause. “No offence.”

“Ah,” said Youzen. It seemed very much a child's reasoning. “None taken.” He thought for a moment. “You said she's difficult to manage?”

Kijin sighed, slumping over. “Difficult is an understatement,” she groaned. “She's technically older than me, so she keeps telling me she doesn't have to listen to what I say because I'm younger. She doesn't—she doesn't seem to have any kind of sense of like—what she should and shouldn't do. If she wants to do something, then to her she _should_ be doing it. You know? And Dakki was—she was the only person Kibi would listen to about stuff like that. If I told her something was bad to do, she'd stick her tongue out at me and do it anyway, but if Dakki—if it was Dakki telling her not to do something, she'd listen. She'd listen to her. But not to me or anyone else...”

Kijin trailed off into dejected silence. Youzen took another sip of his tea. It was still cold, and he frowned at it. There was something very defeating about drinking cold tea.

“I have no idea why I told you all of that,” Kijin said after a moment, sounding more like she was talking to herself than to Youzen. With a groan, she pushed herself away from the wall. “Guess I'd better get back to babysitting duty.” She left his office, politely closing the door behind her.

Youzen sat for a moment, thinking. He finished off the sad remains of his tea and stood up from his desk, more to stretch his legs than to actually go somewhere. He stared at the patterned wood that made up his office door for a moment. Youzen suddenly felt acutely aware of the small size of the little room, how the overhead light didn't seem to completely banish all the shadows that lurked in the corners, how the dark wood of the door shut him off from the rest of the building. It was cramped and lonely. The plain, unadorned walls seemed to press in on him. He looked at the spot where Kijin had been leaning just a moment before. It seemed to him like there should be something different about the part of the wall she'd touched, something left behind to mark her presence—but there was nothing, of course.

It was strange. Ou Kijin and Ko Kibi had been people he'd fought bitterly against before—not in person, but at least in theory. From what he'd heard, Dakki and her sisters hadn't been terribly popular in the youkai world either. But they were both sennin, so here they were, in Horai...

He wondered how he should feel about that. He searched his emotions, but he didn't seem to feel much of anything about it. Was that normal? Hadn't they been bitter enemies once? Though—now that he was thinking about it, Youzen couldn't recall ever having felt strongly one way or another about the Dakki sisters. Taikoubou-suusu had hated Dakki, but he'd had good reason to, a personal reason. For Youzen... they were merely three strangers who were doing bad things. Naturally he would help stop them, and he would give the effort his all—the Genius Doushi of Kongrong never did anything by halves, after all—but there'd never been much emotion behind it. It was the right thing to do, so he'd done it.

Staring at the empty bottom of his teacup, Youzen felt a wave of discomfort wash over him. Surely this apathy wasn't a good thing, not when everyone around him seemed to be feeling much more than he was. Was this a youkai thing? Or was he just—broken, somehow? Neither option sounded appealing to him. Anxiously, he grabbed his teacup and exited his office. He'd get more tea and go back to work and shove all of these unnecessary thoughts out of his head.

Youzen's office was at the end of a short hallway. To his left was Choukei's office, though the door was open and the light was off. Choukei was very rarely found inside his office; normally he was running to and fro various parts of the administrative building, a stack of papers or mug of tea in his arms. To find him, all you had to do was stand in a central enough location and just wait for a bit. He'd cross your path soon enough.

To Youzen's left was the door to Nentou's office. It was open just a crack, though it looked like someone had tried to close it. The door had already become slightly warped from Nentou's abuse, no longer sitting straight in its frame. Shutting it now involved more wedging it in place than closing it properly.

It looked like the light in Nentou's office was off too, meaning he also wasn't in. Good; Youzen didn't want to be scolded for taking a short walk. He and Choukei were probably still off chasing Kibi, Youzen realised. He wondered if she'd given up on her strange idea, or if she'd be back to bother him about it later. He didn't know which option he'd prefer.

Exiting the hallway that held his office, Youzen came out onto a landing overlooking a lobby, some seven floors below. He leaned against the railing and looked down, idly watching the bustle of workers moving between floors, most often with a stack of papers in hand, but sometimes with a collection of various items clutched in their arms. The lowest floors were the busiest, housing offices dedicated to the daily functioning of the sennin world; conversely, hardly anyone came up to the top floor where Youzen worked save for Nentou or Choukei or himself. The lack of traffic lent itself to a quiet workspace with few distractions, but at the same time Youzen found it rather lonely and isolating.

He looked down at the empty mug in his hand. As always when he was standing near a drop carrying something, Youzen had the impulse to throw it off and watch it fall until it shattered on the neatly-tiled floor of the lobby below. Instead he settled for running his thumb over the ridges of the cup, feeling its rough texture under his skin. This particular mug was unevenly glazed on its outside, and the differing sensory input was an interesting distraction.

Frowning at the inside of his cup, Youzen once again glanced down at the lobby floor below him. He... didn't know where to go to refill his tea. Choukei had always been the one to do it for him, and this was the result. Youzen grit his teeth in agitation. Uselessly relying on others to do things he was fully capable of doing himself had proved over and over again to weaken him, and this was an uncomfortable reminder of that truth. What kind of headmaster was he if he didn't even know where in the building the tea kettle was? He gripped his cup tightly in his fist.

Well, there was nothing he could do now but find Choukei and ask him. He could always go back to his office and wait until Choukei returned with a new stack of papers for Youzen to sign, but that was too much like admitting defeat, something Youzen refused to do. He headed down the stairs at a determined pace. If he ran into Nentou, he'd get scolded for wasting time, but that was a risk he'd just have to take.

As it turned out, it didn't take long at all for Youzen to bump into Choukei. He'd made it to the stairs between the sixth and fifth floors when he caught sight of Choukei hurrying up from below him, a sheaf of papers tucked neatly under one arm.

“Oh, Youzen!” Choukei said, glancing up to see him standing there. His eyes flicked to the mug in Youzen's hand. “Are you looking for more tea? I can get it for you, I was going to get a cup for myself after I dropped this off.”

Youzen opened his mouth to say _Yes please, and thank you,_ but what came out was “Is it weird?”

Choukei blinked. “No, it's the usual tea, I brewed a nice big pot myself this morning.”

“Um,” Youzen said. “No, I...” He floundered, unsure of what had made him jump to this topic. “Is it weird working with me, I mean. We—we fought once, we were enemies...”

Choukei seemed to think for a minute. “Not really? I mean, it's weird working under you, because you're so in—um, you're not. You're very different from Bunchuu-sama. But as far as having fought you once...” The smaller man shrugged. “It doesn't really mean anything now. Sure we fought, but it wasn't like I had any personal issue with you. I was just following Bunchuu-sama's orders.”

Youzen blinked. Just following orders...?

“So did you want more tea?” Choukei asked.

“Ah, please.”

Choukei nodded. “Okay, here, I'll trade you this for your cup.” He extended the sheaf of papers towards Youzen. Awkwardly they exchanged them, Youzen almost dropping some of the papers and diving after their trajectory to prevent them from flying everywhere.

“Oh, what happened to Kibi?” Youzen asked after he was standing up straight again.

Choukei made a face. “She and Kijin left. Or rather, she ran out of here and Kijin chased after her. Nentou said he thought she might try and hide somewhere and come back to bug you again, but she just went straight out of here.”

Youzen sighed. “I wonder what that was all about.”

“Who knows,” Choukei said. Then he frowned, his face getting uncharacteristically serious. “But, listen, Youzen, a word of advice? Don't get too involved with those Dakki sisters. Sure, Dakki herself is gone, but that doesn't mean the other two aren't dangerous by themselves, and we have no idea what their motives are or what they'll do now.” He made a face at the floor. “Honestly I'd rather we just kill them.”

Youzen started. “Kill them? But that's...”

“No, it's not,” Choukei said heatedly, before Youzen could finish his thought. “We can't just kick them out; who knows what kind of trouble they'd get into back on earth. But it's dangerous to have them here when they're so big a liability. Killing them is the easiest solution.”

“They'd fight back, you know,” Youzen said mildly, carefully keeping all his agitation out of his voice. “You're right that it's troubling to have them here, but I think it's too early to say we should just... dispose of them.”

Choukei made a little noise in the back of his throat. “I suppose.”

Youzen neatened the stack of papers in his arms.

“So—tea, right?” Choukei said after a moment of silence.

Youzen nodded. “Yes, thank you. I'd better go get started on this.” He gestured to the papers he held.

“Yeah, before Nentou gets back from—where did he go, anyway? Well, we'd best not push our luck. I'll be by with your tea before too long!”

Youzen bid Choukei a brief farewell and turned around to re-climb the stairs to his office. One and a half flights, a right turn into a short hallway, through the door he'd left open when he left... He closed it now behind him. The light on the ceiling flickered to life, responding to his spiritual pressure. It was a simple paopei; if a sennin was nearby, it remotely drew on their energy to create light. The drain was small enough that Youzen didn't notice it was happening; after all, he was used to wearing Koutenken around his wrist, and that too was a constant small drain of his energy.

He settled back down in his chair with a sigh. Absent-mindedly he reached for his teacup, hand closing around empty air. That's right, he'd given it to Choukei to refill. Making an irritated noise, he shifted his focus back to the papers in front of him—but he couldn't concentrate. He kept thinking about how tired Kijin looked as she'd leaned against his wall, or Choukei's unexpected vehemence about the surviving sisters. He kept thinking about his own lack of emotional response to their presence, comparing it to Choukei's. Wasn't there definitely something wrong with him, then? He was definitely broken. If you force a youkai to act like a human something has to snap—

Stop, stop, _stop._ Youzen fisted his hands in his hair and tugged, trying to breathe steady through the tightness in his chest and stomach. He wasn't broken. He was fine. He needed to get back to work. He was just—

Youzen closed his eyes and sat back in his chair. He needed to talk to someone about this. Having all these agitated thoughts constantly circling got him nowhere. Just when he'd almost convinced himself of one thing, the ouroboros of his mind would bite its own tail again and off he'd go. When he was younger, he'd often sought his shishou's advice in times like this, and the objective outsider view had helped him sort out the facts and get his view straight. But now his shishou was gone, and he had no one to talk to, leaving his thoughts jumbled and helpless. Koutenken was a good listener, but he wasn't one for giving advice.

No... That wasn't quite true. He wasn't entirely alone. There was—Fugen.

 _He was drunk when he made you that offer,_ the voice in Youzen's head told him. _There's no way he actually_ meant _it. Don't make a fool of yourself._

No, Youzen told it firmly. He was pretty sure alcohol merely exaggerated what was already there and didn't cause the consumer to do things completely against their beliefs. Some part of Fugen _had_ wanted to reach out. There was a chance, no matter how small, that Fugen would respond positively to Youzen making the same offer in turn. And Youzen was going to seize it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no update, whoops. i'm going to be formally placing this fic on hiatus for a while-- i've been struggling recently to balance irl stuff with a couple creative projects, this one included, and i haven't been doing a very good job of it. i want to add more to my backlog before i start posting again, and maybe knock out some other fic ideas i have too? i'm very partial to this story and i do plan to see it to completion, but it's shaping up to be a lengthy project and there are other things i'd like to work on too. i hope whenever i'm ready to post again that you'll still be reading it, and if not, thanks so much for reading even just this far!


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